


raison d'être

by waffles0up



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Yugotalia - Fandom
Genre: (attempted rape is not between the main characters fyi), Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Biopunk, Blood, Character Death, Constructive Criticism Encouraged, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Death, Fanon Character(s), Fanon Interpretations, Genetic Engineering, Genetically Engineered Beings, Gunshot Wounds, Heterosexual Sex, Human Names, Human Trafficking, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medicinal Drug Use, Military Backstory, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Fanon Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Miscarriage, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Verse, Original Character(s), Procreative Sex, Robots, Slow Build, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 170,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waffles0up/pseuds/waffles0up
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The desire for a quiet life lead ex-military doctor Marko to the cold, secluded North, but when the peace is shattered one night he finds himself facing his past - and his future.</p><p>Unconventional Omegaverse AU, which means I may have changed a few things. No prior knowledge of Hetalia necessary to read. Back on hiatus for the time being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Update - 19/01/2016:  
> Thanks for 1000 hits as of today. Much appreciated! I know it's not really a measure of how well the fic is being received (as opposed to comments/kudos/bookmarks) but it keeps me going nonetheless.
> 
> Update - 28/09/2015:  
> A few changes were made to chapter 12 for consistency purposes. I urge anyone who has read chapter 12 previously to reread the chapter, as these changes are important to the story. I apologise for the length of time it took me to make these fixes but from this point on nothing else major should be changed.
> 
> Update - 02/08/2015:  
> Chapters 1 through to 10 have finally been rehashed, which means updates will be back on track soon. Once again let me know if you find any errors or the like. Thanks!
> 
>  
> 
> \--
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Axis Powers Hetalia and its related characters are the intellectual property of Hidekaz Himaruya.  
> The fanon extension of Hetalia, Yugotalia, and its related characters are the intellectual property of tix91.  
> I own nothing but the story herein, and a handful of original characters that are included.
> 
> As stated on the external summary, it is not necessary to have any knowledge of Hetalia and/or Yugotalia before reading this fic. The characters are human equivalents of the nation personifications, therefore whilst the occasional canon personality may seem lost on those not familiar with Hetalia, the story can easily be read as a piece of original Omegaverse fiction.
> 
> The story contains adult content and themes and whilst it is tagged as such and the nature of AO3 allows it to be accessed freely, I urge potential readers to be above 18 before continuing past this point.
> 
> \--

It was a good night for a smoke.

Cold, sure, but that went without saying. The sky was clear, the stars alight in the expanse of black that stretched above, over the mountains and beyond. There was time in the lull of the evening to appreciate the calm; unyielding snowstorms were forecast for the days ahead, the thick air a telling sign.

The village was always still after nine in the evening. It was rare for anyone to venture out after dark, if it wasn’t necessary. After all, the longer the night, the colder it grew. However, not yet had every light in every window beneath each thatched roof been snuffed out. In such a secluded community, the sound of an approaching vehicle would no doubt rouse some suspicion among those awake to hear it.

Marko, however, was expecting it.

Hunched against the wooden railings of his surgery, he watched the edge of the village road, waiting for the headlights to swell in the distant darkness. The chilly air pricked at his face, as his breath and the smoke from his cigarette swirled in front of his view. So far, it had been a long week. The days dragged on and on; sometimes, it felt as if the evening would never show at all. Time was somehow stalled in their little village - a bubble, secluded in the mountains. Or, perhaps he’d just been bored all along.

As the two small lights he was waiting for flickered in his peripheral vision, he placed aside that thought. If being bored was the case, at least he'd then be occupied for a little longer. Following the whirs and clunks from the old black SUV, he stepped around the barrier and onto the path. When at a halt, facing the approaching vehicle, he tossed his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out in the snow at his feet.

The tyres crunched as the SUV pulled up on the road side next to his surgery. He tossed a quick glance over his shoulder towards the other cabins; out of curiosity, more than anything. But, still, nothing and no one stirred. When he heard the vehicle's door slam shut, a breath of ease following, he cast his eyes forwards again.

“Evening!” Erzsébet's voice was bright, though quiet, as if she were being very careful not to disrupt the village's serene silence any more than her SUV already had done. Once she'd left the driver's side, though, she didn't hang around to give much more of a greeting, before she opened another door and dove into the back seat. She was a well-built woman, strong-faced yet remarkably elegant. The long, thick waves of her brown hair were tied back in a snug ponytail, and she wore a muted grey coat that blended her into the shaded surroundings.

“How was the trip?” Marko asked, out of courtesy. He placed his hands in his pockets as he stepped over to her, and rubbed his numbed fingers together, to warm them.

“Well, the usual, y'know?” She replied, pulling a box up into her arms before turning around to face him again. “It's a long journey up here. Long and cold.” She put on a sweet smile, and thrust the box towards him. It was probable her drive had lasted her the entire day, and she was putting up a front, pretending not to be as tired as she was. There were dark lines of fatigue encircling her eyes.

Slipping his arms underneath the box, Marko pulled it from her hold. He noted its hefty weight, which implied the answer to his next question. “So, ya got everythin'?”

Erzsébet nodded. “ _Everything_.”

That was a relief. It was also pretty impressive. “What's the tab? I'll get it paid off when I can.” He snorted a bit. “Unless ya stole it _all_ and lived to tell the tale?”

She rolled her eyes, locking the SUV. “Let's not worry about that right now, hmm?”

Well aware that she was too tired and cold to want to talk numbers, until the morning at least, Marko shrugged a bit, before motioning with his head for her to follow him. “C'mon. I'll get ya somethin' to drink.”

The small apartment he lived in on the upper floor of his surgery wasn't exactly spacious, but nor were any of the cabins that made up the village. None boasted much more than a sturdy timber frame encompassing five or six snug rooms, and almost entirely wooden interiors did pose the issue of creaky floorboards. But, his place was good enough. At least, _he_ thought so. He lived alone, so he didn't really need much more than the basics. He did happen to have a spare room, and this was where Erzsébet stayed when she visited; the rest of the time, it was used for storage, to keep his main living area de-cluttered.

But this was something Erzsébet usually picked up on, whenever she was there. Marko got the impression she used it as an excuse to bring up something she _had_ to say, rather than something she _wanted_ to.

And every time, it was the same thing. So by force of habit, now, he was prompt to brush it off.

“You should really find a place for all that junk.” She muttered, wandering towards the couch.

 _Less than two minutes_ , Marko thought to himself. That might have been a new record. He slammed the door shut behind them.

“It’s not junk.” He said firmly, eyeing the piles of old possessions she was referring to, heaped in the far corner of the room. Though, under any other circumstance, he might well have agreed that indeed it was junk. Old cushions and defunct electrical objects were among them - things he couldn't get rid of for the simple reason he didn't quite know how to, or perhaps had a nagging feeling they might end up useful in the future about. After tossing the surgery keys on the nearby table, he made for the counter before she could refute his words.

The springs of the worn-out couch groaned in the quietness of the room, telling him she’d taken a seat.

“Still, you can’t really leave it lying around like that.”

He let the bottle in his hand clatter onto the counter louder than he should have. He knew damn well where this was going. “I'm not comin' back.” Had he rammed the bottle down any harder, he might well have shattered the glass. Through his irritation, he managed to chide himself inwardly for it.

She huffed. “I didn't say anything about that.”

“You were gonna...” He mumbled back, not turning around to face her. The topic had come up so many times before with her that just a brief thought of it annoyed him.

Erzsébet was quiet for a few moments, before she sighed. “So, there's not even a tiny chance you'll--”

“No.” He did his best to refrain from snapping at her, though his fingers gripped tight around the bottle. His decision was adamant, and had been for a long time.

A more than awkward silence fell between them, as Marko poured the wine into a couple of glasses, managing to spill it and cursing under his breath when he did. Naught but the sound of the crackling fire inside the stove followed. He must have sounded crazy to Erzsébet, every time the matter was brought up – after all, who in their right mind would want to live in a tiny village in the freezing cold of The North, when they could have a much more comfortable life in the capital?

But Marko never wanted to see that Godforsaken place they called 'Utopia' ever again.

“Thanks.” Erzsébet murmured, when he set a glass of the burgundy liquid in front of her, breaking the few wordless moments it had taken for him to serve her the drink. She hooked her finger around the stem and pulled it towards her, not looking him in the eye.

He took a seat in the wicker chair across the coffee table from her. Marko felt as if her sudden change of attitude was a good thing; every other occasion, she had gotten angrier and angrier with him until they were both too tired to continue arguing. But this time, Erzsébet had apparently gotten the message that there was no changing his mind. The only downside was that she'd perhaps be a little sore until the next morning.

“How're things back home, anyway?” He asked, with a light shrug. He figured he might as well try to conduct some kind of pleasant conversation with her, even if she wouldn't comply.

Much to his surprise, she decided not to give him the silent treatment. “It's the same as ever.” Leaning back on the couch, she brought the glass to her lips. Still refusing to meet his gaze, she feigned a look of boredom. “Kids everywhere. HQ up our asses every day.”

Her latter complaint was part of the reason Marko had decided never to return to the capital. HQ ran Utopia, and its territories beyond the city. It was a corporate government, where those with money and influence held power. The moment any less fortunate citizens stepped out of line, they were 'disciplined', or else eradicated, by HQ's police force. The North was a part of Utopia's greater territories, but a small village was of little use to HQ. So, unlike inside the capital's borders, the forces weren't on people's doorsteps every five minutes... Even so, the fact that The North's pool of wealth was worth peanuts to HQ didn't seem to prevent them from conducting high tax rates there.

Trying to alleviate the mood again, Marko snickered at her reply. “What'd ya do this time?”

“Nothing new.” She waved her free hand in a dismissive motion. “But, you know how they are. They find you in the wrong place at the wrong time, and suddenly you're top of their suspect list.” She took a large swig of her wine. “I'd probably be in their 'detention centre' right now, if Roderich wasn't there to pay them off.”

Roderich was Erzsébet's husband. Descended from a line of aristocrats, his name alone had enough influence in the capital to keep his family's safety in tact, where his wallet might not.

“So what's your plan? Fend 'em off like that 'til they give up?” Marko asked.

Erzsébet snorted, responding coolly, “What else can I do? I'm ex-military, so I'm pretty high on their radar no matter what I do.”

Another reason Marko had no desire to return. “Y'know, if you were tryin' to convince me to come back, it's not workin'...” With that, he got a throw cushion launched at him, causing him to almost slosh his wine. “Ah-- _Hey_!”

“Sometimes it's not about your own comfort, you know.” She stared at him, a hard frown on her face. “You're a 'doctor', aren't you? Do you know how many sick kids there are in the capital?”

He looked at her with disdain, turning his voice cold again. “Had a feelin' ya might spare me the lectures, this time...”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Erzsébet sat forwards, placing her half-full glass on the table with a clunk. “You know what? Fine. Forget it. Be like that. I'm going to bed.”

Marko didn't stop her. He didn't even say anything, but he did let out an exasperated sigh when she'd slammed the door of the spare room behind her.

The subject of him not wanting to return to the capital, it seemed, was more of a strain on their relationship than he'd first thought. Perhaps it would stop her from making the trips to the village altogether... The notion was a little worrying – he didn't really have anyone he could trust but Erzsébet to bring him what he needed.

He cast his eyes towards the cardboard box she'd brought with her, situated atop the small dining table. Supposing he should check the contents over, he left his glass next to hers and made his way to that side of the room.

After slipping his finger under the opening flaps and breaking the seal, he unfolded the top of the box. Inside were various packaged medicines, stacked atop one another. This was the stock he needed for the village; even if it were considered small by general standards, it would be enough to last them three months or so, until Erzsébet's next visit. _If_ she agreed to visit again, that was...

It wasn't like he couldn't get regular medication sent from a stockist, but with the batch, Marko received a box of pills he needed, himself. This particular medicine was rare, and the 'condition' it treated wouldn't go unnoticed by HQ. That was the main reason he trusted Erzsébet, and Erzsébet alone, to find it for him.

The more he pondered it, the more convenient it did seem, to be living in the capital. Convenience wasn't all, though; there was only so much a tiny settlement could offer him, as a medical practitioner or otherwise. The populace was so limited - it had peaked at thirty the year before - it was possible for him to go days at a time without treating someone sick or injured. Locals were also traditional in many respects; whilst imports were still their main food source, hunting for sport in the forests beyond the village borders was a regular pastime. Hence, surface wounds (and the occasional broken bone) were the most common ailment he was faced with.

Life there had its ups and downs. As lacking, as cut-and-dry as it could get, the village was his home. Even if he hadn't been born or raised there, he had made it so.

He quickly shook the thoughts of the capital off; there was no way he could afford to have doubts about his decision. Everything would be fine, so long as Erzsébet continued to work with him.

After arranging the packages back into the box (tucking his own pills into the breast pocket of his shirt), Marko headed towards the far window. Calling it a night and talking to Erzsébet in the morning sounded like the best thing to do. He hoped that if he reminded her of his situation, she'd put the matter to rest. He reached for the curtains, not stopping to take in the view overlooking the peaceful, snow-dusted central plateau.

Not until he caught sight of the upstairs lights of the nearby homes, flashing on one by one. It wasn't until a distant – yet harrowing – shriek fell upon Marko's ears that he understood why. His hands fisted the curtain fabric tight.

A figure emerged from the blindspot beyond a far lodge and hurtled across the glistening plateau. They scurried, erratic and desperate, like captured prey that had taken a potshot at freedom. With their form shrouded in darkness, it wasn't until Marko saw the speckled trail behind them blackening the snow that dread emerged in the pit of his chest.

 _Blood._ The sound of a gunshot followed, crackling against the silent night. He swallowed a deep breath. Another shot, and another. They drew closer, until they rattled the air with such a force he could feel it in the wood beneath his feet.

The sight kept him frozen in place. He stared out, almost blankly, for what seemed like an eternity. As the figure stumbled to their knees in the dead centre of the plateau, his first coherent thought about the situation hit him: was he witnessing a murder? The gunfire, repetitive clicks against the dead of the night, couldn't have come from a simple hunting rifle. Whoever - _whatever_ \- was in pursuit was in possession of something automatic.

There was movement beyond the trail the stumbling figure had left in the snow, which glinted ever so slightly upon catching the muted lights of the windows. And then a noise like nails on a chalkboard echoed across the village - words, but not a voice, loud and grating.

“ **EXIT YOUR HOMES IMMEDIATELY WITH YOUR HANDS UP.** ”

“ _Shit_.” Marko hissed the second he heard the command. He found it in him to move then, ducking below the windowsill in a squat. He didn’t need to watch anything more of the scene from his window to know just what was going on. Staying in full view at the window was more risky. He glanced towards the glowing lantern on the sideboard across the room, and grunted through gritted teeth. It was too late to snuff it out… _They_ would know.

The same words repeated over, a harsh monotone that cut through his trail of thoughts. Hushed voices of the villagers began to enter the plateau. They were obeying the orders. The alarm he felt turned into confusion, and then into aggravation. He clenched his sweaty hands into fists and asked himself: why _here_? Why _now_?

The door of the spare room was pulled open, and that grabbed his attention for a second. Erzsébet stepped across the room, towards the table. She glanced at him, her face drained of all colour.

“C’mon. Get outside.” She said, in an almost cold manner. She plucked the surgery keys up and headed for the staircase.

He wanted to hesitate, but didn’t. Upon rising to his feet he stepped after her, following her down the stairs and into the front hallway. Outside the commotion continued, the order echoing over and over like a broken record. Marko couldn’t match Erzsébet’s speed and she was outside before he’d even reached the bottom of the staircase, the front door swinging ajar and the brisk, bitter breeze sweeping past it.

“ **EXIT YOUR HOMES IMMEDIATELY WITH YOUR HANDS UP.** ”

His steps were heavy; he'd been numbed by the sudden startling. It was as if someone had hollowed out his legs and poured concrete into the empty space. Bracing for the cold, he left through the door, raising his hands to shoulder height with a frown. Erzsébet was already in front of the porch, stood in the same pose, her form statuesque. Marko took a few glances towards the homes of the villagers, many of whom were shuffling out of their doorways looking nerve-wracked. He didn’t blame them.

Then, his eyes slid towards Erzsébet as he approached her. At first he planned to stand at her side, and then he caught sight of the bloodied figure laid face down in the snow again. He continued to walk, looking away from the injured soul again only to stare at the beings approaching from behind the buildings - the source of the disturbing motorised words.

The hunks of steel, moulded to somewhat resemble an armoured human, were intimidating to anyone who had never laid eyes upon them before. They were slow and laboured in their movements, and each step they took created a dull thud that racked the brittle wood of the buildings, and the bones of those that had ventured out there. Their headsets twisted, scanning each building over as they passed by. Like a pack of lumbering beasts, they searched for their prey.

 _Prey._  Marko forced himself to blink - his eyes were sore from not doing so - and then he looked towards the inanimate body again. Why were they there - and what the hell was it they wanted?

He continued towards the centre of the plateau, expression unchanged. It was hard to even take a brief glance into the headsets of the automata; the flashing lights of their scanners were blinding in the dark. Yet that was where most people thought to look - it was like staring them in the ‘eyes’. They didn’t have eyes, or a brain - just a scanner, a databank, a tracking signal and weaponry.

_They’re not like us… They can’t compare… They’re imperfect._

He somehow wished he could suppress that thought, but it was part of what was keeping him going. Seven foot of metal puppetry, that’s all they were… They wouldn’t shoot unless it were deemed necessary. Which meant that they had marked the figure, whom he could now see was clad in a dark hood, perhaps to shield their identity - as a target. It also meant he was stepping on thin ice by approaching.

“What are you doing!?” He heard Ezsébet calling after him, her voice strained.

“ **HALT.** ”

His eyes lifted towards the automata. He stood still, on command, barely a couple of yards from the injured figure. His hands remained upwards. “I’m a doctor.” He announced, loud and clear, so the automata’s systems could comprehend him. “This person is injured.”

Silence drifted over the village; the repetitive words ceased. All that could be heard for the next few moments was the clunking of gears as the automata (he counted eight) formed a straight line besides one another. _Imperfect. They can be heard upon approach. Stealth is out of the question._

“ **TARGET IS A CRIMINAL. TARGET DISOBEYED DIRECT ORDERS. TARGET WAS ELIMINATED.** ”

Marko almost wanted to roll his eyes and sigh. Automata, themselves, wouldn’t understand his intentions. But, their puppeteer would. He searched the depths of the night past the walls of the cabins again. There must have been a HQ official hanging around somewhere nearby.

‘ _Target was eliminated’_ , he repeated in his head. Taking another look at the figure, he saw no signs of movement. Perhaps they really had been a criminal. That in mind, he stayed glued to the spot, the stench of spilt blood only just starting to fill his nostrils.

The crunching sound of the snow being crossed behind him made his head turn. A tall, distinctive looking male came into view. He too had his hands raised. Marko easily recognised him by his facial features alone, his wide set jaw and prominent cheekbones gave his identity away, but his yellow-blond hair, normally spiked upright, had fallen into flat bangs over his eyes. He too wore a pensive-looking frown, his brow knotted together. Judging by his plain, disheveled clothing, he looked as if he’d just been tossed out of bed by the automata.

“Why’re you here?” He asked them, stepping ahead of Marko.

Mikkel was the son of the man considered the ‘head’ of the village, though the title meant little outside of organisational purposes. The North, despite its typical freedom of any meddling from Utopia, was still a HQ administered zone. With his father’s health dwindling over the past couple of years, Mikkel had been taking more control in his place. However, Marko didn’t tend to see much of Mikkel in person, despite the fact he treated his father’s ailments on a regular basis. The young man seemed to enjoy being outside of the village perimetres more often than not. That night, he looked the exact opposite of the ‘high spirited’ person he'd thought him to be otherwise. He especially didn’t seem pleased when the automata didn’t give him an answer.

Marko glanced down at the cloaked body; whether they were in fact dead or not, their blood was seeping still into the snow about them. His stomach wrenched a bit; his instincts were telling him to check the person’s status, but disobeying instructions from HQ? And in the open, like that? That was what had gotten _them_ shot, he expected.

“It has come to HQ’s attention that this village has become somewhat of a hideout for anti-government rebels.” A new voice spoke, high and cold. Crackling footsteps brought Marko’s attention back towards the automata. His suspicions were confirmed when a man in a dark uniform (it was double-breasted and a slightly greyish, off-crimson colour, which whilst not visible to the naked eye at night, was one Marko remembered well enough) walked in front of the soldier units.

“What!?” Mikkel spoke up, lowering his hands a little. “You guys’re crazy, there’s no one like that here!”

But Marko could already feel his stomach churning again, the dread drifting over him once more, making his limbs stiff. ‘Anti-government rebels’. He swallowed hard. They couldn’t have meant Erzsébet, could they?

He didn’t dare to look over his shoulder towards her, as much as he wanted to, lest he give her away.

The official stared at Mikkel for a moment, then shook his head. “It may not be to your knowledge. Now, I recommend you remain quiet, whilst we survey the area.” He spoke coolly, putting emphasis on the word ‘survey’. He lifted a hand, and motioned towards the lifeless figure. “HQ understands the safety of the citizens in its care. The automata are under orders not to harm anyone who doesn’t resist.” He went on to say, as if he were reading from a script. “If you’ve nothing to hide, then you’ve nothing to fear, of course.”

Mikkel looked as if he wanted to say more, but was biting his words back. He balled his hands into fists, though didn’t lower them entirely. Marko kept his eyes on the back of the blond’s head, and wished he could steal even a single glance at Erzsébet. What did she look like, right now? More importantly, what was she _thinking_?

Knowing HQ as he did, he didn’t trust what had been said. They wouldn’t harm anyone who wouldn’t resist? Of course, all the official had to do was give the word and the automata would obey him. After all, Erzsébet was an anti-government rebel and, there she was, standing out in the open. Marko bit his tongue behind his cheek, feeling his pulse begin to rise. Memories threatened to flash before him, to cloud his mind. He drew in a deep breath through his nose.

Impulse. It was how he worked. He acted on the spur of the moment. What was the right thing to do? And could he pull it off? In spite of the cold he felt sweat upon his brow. One wrong move and he - among others - would lay shot up in a pool of blood, just like the cloaked stranger before them.

He released the breath. In a steady motion, he made his way past Mikkel, his hands slipping down.

“Your information’s wrong. There’s no rebels here.” He mustered the will to stare the official straight in his beady eyes. His voice seemed to ring louder than before against the cold silence of the night. He inhaled once more. “There’s just the one. It’s me.”

“M-Marko!!” Erzsébet’s voice cut across the plateau. He did his best to ignore it, hoping the official would interpret it as surprise. Mikkel, now a few paces behind Marko, made a startled grunting sound.

He peered at each of the automata again. They didn’t flinch.

The official’s expression went sour for a moment. “There’s more of you. I know there’s more.”

“They fled already… Most of ‘em, anyway.” He tilted his head backwards, motioning towards the body. “They stayed at mine. The rest of these people had nothin’ to do with it.” Staring the official in the eye again, he spoke louder, almost threatening to let desperation into his tone. _Be strong, this is nothing._ “So… I’m the one ya want. Take me. Leave them all alone.”

He waited for a response from the official, but he stayed silent; he was suspicious, no doubt. Would he buy into what Marko was saying? If he didn’t, then the consequences were dire. Everyone out there, men, women and children alike - they were all nothing but targets if HQ willed it so, irrespective of their personal affiliation. He’d had a quiet, pleasant life in that village, even if it had been no more than a few years, and it wouldn’t have been possible if they hadn’t let him stay, if they had closed their village off to him. Even if it had all come down to this, even if they all believed forever after that he was a rebel who had put their lives in danger… He could save them, for now - he _hoped_.

“You’re too willing.” The official said, outright. “You’re covering for someone.”

‘ _Dammit!’_ , he thought, another heavy frown crossing his face. His gaze slipped over to one of the automata again. “Your machines should know.” The automata’s databanks tapped into a main computer at HQ’s headquarters in Utopia. Therein was logged the identity, DNA and all kinds of information regarding the citizens of any and every region under HQ’s control. It seemed like it was Marko’s last hope, even if at that point, it was somewhat of a stretch.

The official paused, and then waved an automata forwards. “Databank scan.” He ordered.

The scanner’s light on the automata’s headpiece flashed straight into Marko’s eyes, making him flinch. The scanner lowered, examining his body up and down a few times. It took twenty seconds at most, perhaps, but with the pressure Marko was feeling, it felt like much longer. The light dimmed once it was done.

“ **SAMUIL ILIYA. OMEGA.** ” Came the droning voice. “ **AGE, TWENTY-FIVE YEARS, FOUR MONTHS, EIGHTEEN DAYS. HEIGHT ONE-EIGHT-NINE. WEIGHT EIGHT-ZERO.** ”

The official’s eyebrows lifted. “An Omega? And all the way out here?” Though he was acting surprised at the information relayed to him, it seemed that it had convinced him more, after all. “And that name is not the one that woman gave you.”

 _Just a little more, now…_ “Makes sense, doesn’t it?” Marko said, though he was still cautious. A good percentage of the anti-government rebels were ex-HQ personnel themselves - and many were those abandoned by their former military project. It made sense that one would change his name, move to the secluded North and form a safe haven for rebels there.

For a moment he thought the official was moving his hand again to command the automata to proceed with an attack. That wasn’t the case.

“Move out!” The official called. “We’ll return to the transport, then we’ll pursue those that fled. Bring the dead one along.” He turned back towards Marko. “You there, Omega! Come quick. HQ wants you alive.”

When Marko had started holding his breath, he didn’t know, but the moment he was able to lower his hands and step towards the line of automata, he let it go. It was a great weight lifted from him - thanks to both the hooded figure that had come from outside and his own identity, coveted as it was, it seemed like they were going to leave the village and its residents themselves as they were.

He couldn't experience the relief for much more than a few fleeting moments. The official grabbed him roughly, pulling his hands behind his back so that he could bolt them together with cuffs. He didn’t resist; instead he peered across the plateau, attempting as stony a face as possible. Finally, he managed to get a look at Erzsébet. She appeared shaken, conflicted. He gave her a hard stare; it was a silent plea for her to go along with all of this.

Yet it was also short-lived, when the officer gave him a firm shove in the back, forcing him to follow the automata as they began to file out, back the way they had come.

As much as Marko wanted to look back at that place he’d started to call home, he knew he couldn’t. Now the anxiousness was settling in once again, rinsing away any feeling of ease his deception of the official had brought him. Sure, he’d done what he could to keep everyone there safe, but now he had to think of a way to get himself out of that mess - if it were possible.

One thing was for sure: his impulses, and the sheer luck that came with them, might not have been able to save him a second time.


	2. Chapter 2

The young face Marko saw in the mirror was a stark contrast to the blank, vivid background of white. Black hair, sleek and straight and close to his chin in length, longer than HQ tended to allow (they would force him to cut it sooner or later), light golden skin, and grey eyes, deep set.

“Samuil.” A voice called to him. It was familiar – and comforting, even – but the moment he took his eyes away from the mirror, the feeling that the utterance of his old name had brought quickly disappeared.

In a sudden, upright jerk, he was roused; the bright white in his memory faded, and so had the face in the mirror with it. It took him a couple of moments to take in his surroundings, as they weren't at all what he was used to waking up to. Only then did he realise, and remember, what was happening to him.

HQ's transport was dark and dank, a large moving tin can that had a thick smell of rusting iron - and blood. He didn’t exactly know where abouts, but the body of the person shot down had been stowed away in there with him. Windowless, a thick piece of mesh separated the front seats and the back. The heavy doors were locked shut. It was almost pitch black in there, save for the vivid flickers that marked out the automata's headsets. A pretty standard issue vehicle, if Marko remembered right. It was spacious overall, though only because it was designed to transport automata. He found upon waking up a little more that his shoulders were squashed between two hefty chunks of metal. Movement was difficult, and due to the stench, so was breathing. He frowned, wriggling on the spot, hoping that it would make him a little more comfortable.

When had he drifted off, then? He shut his eyes tight and tried to bring the moment back into mind. After the official had marched him through the trodden, bloodied and bullet-ridden snow, back the way they had entered, away from the lights of the village and into the deep night, he had lost his footing at some point. The rest wasn't clear, but the sharp pain in his forehead indicated he'd hit it and passed out.

It took him a while to even process what he'd done; what he'd done, for the sake of many lives as opposed to his own. Looking out for others was less a part of his nature and more something that had been drilled into his head through years of training. But now he had to deal with the consequences that awaited him for it. What would it be? Firing squad? Lethal injection? Or perhaps they'd just let him rot away in a cell. But it was more the fact he just _didn't_ know exactly what would become of him that made his skin prickle, his collar hot and constrictive. Part of him wanted the whole mess to have been the dream, and instead of waking in the rumbling tin can he'd be back in his bed at home, safe and sound. He wanted to loathe himself then for ever having made the decision, but the energy just wasn't there.

There wasn't much he could do, hands bound and automata either side of him. Thinking of a way out of the situation he'd gotten himself into was fruitless; it didn't yet seem feasible. The vehicle was moving, the dull whirr of the engine filling his ears and the occasional clunking noise whenever it hit a rock or a hole in the road (no doubt that was what had woken him; the roads in The North were unkempt dirt tracks). Judging by that, and what the official had said, they were in pursuit of the 'other rebels' – if, indeed, they had taken Marko's word for it. Which meant they could be searching for hours on end, if they didn't end up ferrying Marko back to Utopia first. Running was the only option, and that was provided the officials evacuated the vehicle for any such reason. What then, though? His hands were bound, even if nothing else was, and that would hinder him for sure. Even if he did have use of his hands, he didn't think he had enough speed or stamina to outrun the automata, disappear into the depths of the forest and off their radar. Instead, he'd end up like the bleeding corpse that had been stuffed into the tin can with him.

His stomach twisted, as he wondered about the cloaked person, and what they must have been thinking in their final moments. Irrespective of who they were, they had been running for their life. When faced with certain death, if the chance of freedom was to present itself, aiming for it was the natural thing to do. And either they hadn't known the consequences of what leading HQ to the village would bring, or hadn't found it in them to care. Marko didn't know which was more likely, but it wasn't worth knowing either way. It was water under the bridge. Nothing could have been done about that.

It was a little ironic, now that he considered it. There he'd been, a few minutes before HQ had made their presence known to the village, telling Erzsébet he didn't want to see the hellhole that was the capital ever again. But if he hadn't taken the blame himself, what would they have done to her? What would they have done to the rest of the village?

He knew. He knew _exactly_ what they would have done. That was why he'd put himself forward.

“Samuil.” He heard the voice again; it was clear and gentle, like a wind chime caught in a breeze. The stark white began to wash back across his vision. His eyelids fluttered, and his head started to droop, its ache fading. Every part of his body became heavy.

He had turned away from the mirror, smiling without thinking. He stared into the doorway in front of him, only to find it empty. The curl of his lips waned. Where his heart had jumped at the voice, it then sank into the pit of his stomach. His mouth turned bizarrely dry.

And then, snapping back to reality once more, he realised he had been breathing through his mouth. He coughed quietly, shutting his jaw and inhaling deep through his nose as he brought the short scene to the front of his conscious mind. It was a dream, that much he knew, but a vivid one. It might have been a memory. Sometimes even when awake, he could have sworn  _that voice_ would call to him, when he was alone.

He released his breath again, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue. The dream, the recollection of the voice, whatever it was - he had a hunch that it was playing on his mind in his half-asleep moments because of his situation. Being taken back to Utopia, thinking about what would have become of the village had he not stepped in... The longer he’d spent outside of the capital, the less frequent dreams of HQ had become, so, why else?

 _Cut it out,_  he told himself.  _You're only making things worse for yourself._ _  
_

A loud, abrupt crunching noise from outside caught his attention. It also seemed to catch the attention of the driver, because the vehicle then came to a sudden, shaky halt. Silence fell, and the automata's commanding official could be heard grunting behind the mesh, “What the hell was that?”

Marko thought the exact same thing. The notion that perhaps the vehicle had managed to break down crossed his mind, a stroke of luck that made him toy with the ‘make a break for it’ idea again - not that much of the dangers of said idea had changed. There was a stillness that set in, for the couple of seconds that followed.

Until there was a _clunk_. Marko froze, eyes darting straight upwards. Had something hit the vehicle? _Clunk. Clunk._ Some _things_? No - that wasn’t how it sounded. It sounded as if something had jumped onto the roof of the vehicle,  _clunk, clunk, clunk,_ and it was stepping across it slowly, but if its intention was for stealth, it had already failed. The officials at the front were alerted, and apparently so were the automata; their guns made daunting clicking noises as they readied them.

Everything went quiet again. Peering over to the mesh, Marko spotted the half-visible face of the official as he turned to take a look into the back. The glass of the passenger window beside him shattered. And in a single blink of an eye, he was gone. 

And then a loud wailing scream broke through the silence, one that Marko felt his spine go rigid at.

Another voice (the driver’s, maybe), yelled for the automata to get outside. The back doors cracked open, filling the back of the vehicle with a blast of icy air. Though Marko was already sitting still and upright on the spot, he braced for the cold, his mind playing the disappearance of the official over as the automata poured out.

 _Thud._ He turned his head towards the dark exterior. The official reappeared, smack dab at the feet of two automata, limp and bleeding profusely onto the dirt trail, uniform askew. Before Marko could think to use this opportunity to figure out a way around the machines, they lifted their weapons, pointing towards the vehicle’s roof.

He didn’t even have time to swear aloud before he forced himself to his knees on the cold iron floor. The barrage of gunfire that followed was near deafening; it vibrated through the tin can, through his bones and gritted teeth.

Nothing could have survived eight automata shooting at it. _Nothing -_ whatever creature had somehow whipped the official out of his seat and attacked him like that.

 _Creature?_ No, it couldn’t have been. No kind of animal could have possessed that speed. Nor would it have tossed the body aside like a piece of garbage.

The automata continued to shoot until the driver shouted for them to stop letting their ammo go to waste. But his voice abruptly wavered and gargled and cried out. Whatever had killed the other official, it wasn’t dead - and it had just taken care of the driver, too.

Before questioning exactly how whatever it was had survived the onslaught from the automata, Marko had a more pressing question to ask himself: was he going to be the next to die? He bit the inside of his lip, examining the automata with caution. If the thing out there were to enter the back of the vehicle, the automata would no doubt aim inside and pull their triggers, without an official to tell them not to. _Imperfect_. That was the problem with those damned machines - sure, they could follow orders, but they were incapable of rational thought. They would shoot at the enemy, but Marko would be caught in the crossfire - that was, if their target wasn’t quick enough to kill him first.

His heart was in his throat. He couldn't swallow the feeling down, nor even breathe.

Even if it was all he could do to prepare for it, he clenched his eyes shut. There was nowhere to run, or to hide. He felt cornered... Afraid. Everything about the situation was almost _funny_ ; he was so sure before that night he’d repressed fear long ago. The feeling of vulnerability was one that he hated, even more so when he was so sure it was the state in which he’d be spending the last few moments of his life. Scrambling his mind for a comforting thought, he recalled the fleeting dream again - why couldn't he have died then? Why did he have to ever wake up to that horror?

Convinced now that the scenario he’d expected was mere moments away, the next loud noise that shook the cold floor beneath his body came so out of nowhere that it almost made him jump out of his skin. It was an unnatural groaning, which came from above; instinctively, Marko’s eyes shot open and he rolled himself over to get a look at the vehicle’s ceiling. A crumpling followed, and though he couldn’t fathom what was happening at first, it soon became obvious, even if it was hard to believe what he was seeing. The entire top of the vehicle was ripped off like it was shard of a fingernail, exposing the empty night sky above. Now merely a sheet of metal, it clanked down in front of the doorway, blocking Marko’s view of the automata.

Or, rather, the automata’s view of him.

A clever move; the automata’s sight was only as good as their headsets’ defaults would allow. Unless commanded to scan through an object, they wouldn’t. Unless commanded to do _anything_ , they wouldn’t. _That’s why they can’t compare to us. They’re just heavy weaponry; as autonomous soldiers, they’re flawed._

And that was the moment when he was entirely sure that whatever - _whoever_ \- was out there, they were human. Human _enough_.

_Is it an--?_

There was a _thump_ as the supposed person jumped inside the shell of the vehicle. Marko breathed deep. That kind of speed, and enough strength to peel a piece of iron up like it was a tin lid… Unnatural as they may have been, they weren’t a foreign concept to him. But whether or not his life was still at risk or not, he didn’t know.

They didn’t waste much time in hauling him up, to his surprise, over their shoulder, before jumping back out of the vehicle. Feeling his stomach jerk up into his throat, Marko’s body tensed. Whilst still somewhat apprehensive, he felt awash with relief when he saw the outline of the vehicle, and the automata, disappearing into the distance. He closed his eyes to block out the shaky, tunneling view of the woodland this person was creating with their incredible speed. It was like flying and falling at the same time; he felt both incredibly numb and as light as a feather.  _Maybe I died back there, after all._ But he couldn't entertain the idea for long - the jabbing of the person's shoulder in his twisting stomach reminded him that what was happening was very much real. He clenched his fingers tight; he wanted to grab onto something, lest he be thrown off.

Which did, in fact, happen, once the person had reached a small clearing in the woodland. Except, they had come to a standstill themselves, and had tossed Marko down. They may have saved him from the HQ officials, but they didn’t seem to care if he broke something on the way down from their hold. He hit the snow with a hefty grunt, landing in an uncomfortable position on his shoulder.

“Th-The fuck was that for!?” Marko barked, the second it actually dawned on him what had just happened. He turned his head in the direction he’d fallen from. There was a masculine figure standing there, though nothing else was distinguishable about them in such darkness. In the arm they hadn’t been using to lug Marko back with them was what appeared to be some kind of bundle. They were considerably more gentle in setting this down, careful in letting it slip from their hold.

Once they’d done with that, only then did they start to head over to Marko. Though his eyes were adjusting a little to focus on their face, he still couldn’t make out much. The only thing he could safely say was that they were male, and that was confirmed when a reply to his question came.

“I’d punch you in the fucking face, but like this I’d knock your head clean off your shoulders.” It was a gravelly voice, harsh and laden with anger. An exasperated exhale followed - akin to a sigh mixed with a grunt. “You try to have some peace and quiet for one night in your Goddamned life, and some moron tries to be a fucking noble-ass sacrificial lamb and lands himself on HQ’s shitlist!”

For the words to have come from someone who had made a successful attempt to save him was startling, though Marko would have cared more if he and his mind weren't in a state of disarray. He sat up as best he could, the aches in his body restricting his movement. How did that guyknow about all that? Had he been there? That wouldn’t have surprised him, somehow. Once he could think a little more straight, Marko gave a curt, unappreciative reply, “I didn’t ask for ya to save me, y’know.”

The man snorted, “Yeah, yeah, _you_ didn’t.” Before Marko could respond to that, he made a motion with his hand. “Get up. I’ll free your hands.”

Marko did as he was told. Grabbing the binds behind his back, the man twisted and snapped the metal off. He seemed to find it a strain at first, but it wasn’t long before they were cast off and flung aside.

Muttering a “Thanks”, Marko brought his arms back to his front, rubbing at his slightly chafed wrists. If by now the whole incident with the vehicle hadn’t been enough proof, the broken shackles at his feet were all the more convincing. Before he could turn around to get a closer look at the man, he had already started to pace back across the snow, the way they’d come.

“The automata won’t follow you this far. Stay here and stay quiet anyway. If you want to make yourself useful, start digging a hole or something.” The man told him. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

Marko didn’t pursue him, but nor did he particularly like adhering to the ‘orders’ he’d given him. He supposed he didn’t have much of a choice, though. Even if he was right and the automata wouldn’t find him out there, he was still going to be alone in the middle of nowhere, off the road that lead to Utopia. The wilderness of The North was mostly uncharted, and forest covered a great deal of that. For all Marko knew there could be nothing but pine trees for miles around; he couldn’t even try to guess how far off the track the man had brought them.

He didn’t ask what the man meant by ‘start digging a hole’. He had a faint idea when he eyed the ‘bundle’ that he had dropped just before, inwardly wincing when he realised that it had hands and feet poking out from under the fabric. The man had rescued the cloaked body from the vehicle, too.

The doctor in him, momentarily, had a piqued sense of curiosity; that part of him wanted to examine the body. But then again, he didn’t see the point. They’d died from blood loss, and it wasn’t like he could do anything to bring them back. He could only do so to identify them, which was fruitless. There was next to no chance it was someone from the village - someone he knew, himself - and even if it was, there was still nothing he could do for them. He couldn't even return their body. The doctor in him was also wary of the cold. If the other man wasn’t coming back until morning, how was he supposed to cope until then? His clothing was thin; a plain white shirt and black pants, smart-looking enough for his job, but more or less useless in keeping properly warm. Already the icy air was making him shiver. It was early in January and especially in the deep of night temperatures would take sharp plummets.

Wandering around the clearing a couple of times, he found there were a few low-hanging branches on the trees he could pull off. Not a lot of snow reached the lower branches, so they were dry enough to set alight. _Survivalism_ , he mused; in spite of the fact that it was a great solace to have been saved from HQ’s grip, he couldn’t help but feel a little bitter about being stuck in the middle of the woods in The North, no appropriate clothing and no resources except the trees around him.

That was when he remembered he did have _one_ thing: his lighter. Unless it was being used, it never left the pocket of his pants. So when it came to igniting the fire, one click of the lighter’s trigger was all it took. He recoiled as soon as the first spark connected. He didn’t like fire. Not at all. Too many times had he seen it used to destroy. And too many times had he thought nothing of that fact. Despite being wary of it, he would tolerate it in a situation where it was necessary; he’d taught himself to do so, and after living in The North for so long, it was somewhat second nature.

Once that was taken care of, he supposed there was nothing left to do, but what the man had apparently wanted him to - dig the cloaked body a grave. With a sigh, he moved a few feet away from where the fire was starting to form, and began to rake his hands through the snow to clear a spot to start on. Feeling his hands turning numb not long after, he wished he had stowed a packet of cigarettes with his lighter. A smoke might’ve helped him get through the night.

 

* * *

 

 

All things considered, Marko slept soundly. Not once did he dream, not even of the chiming voice that had been dragging him back and forth from consciousness before. Though once again, he didn’t know for sure _when_ he’d drifted off, he assumed it was some time when the air had started to get frigid and his fingers were too numb for him to continue digging any longer. It _had_ been a long day - and night, too.

The pale morning haze hung above the tips of the tree tops. There was a wisp of smoke in his peripheral vision, and the scent of ash filled each intake of breath he took through his nostrils. He noticed that he was staring up at the sky, flat on his back, not curled around himself for warmth. There was a heaviness across his body, and in fact, his face was the only part of him that felt at all cold. He cast his gaze forwards, taking note of the thick, coarse piece of fabric atop him, brought up to cover his shoulders and the top of his neck, before he saw there was another beneath him, too. It was little wonder he’d slept so well out in the open; the makeshift bed was almost comfortable enough that he didn’t want to sit up to take a proper look around the clearing, now that the dawn had broken.

Propping himself up on his forearms, he eyed the fire that was crackling a few yards away, recalling then that he was the one who had set it going. Someone was seated in front of it, their back to Marko. He suddenly remembered the silhouette of the man the night before. The event played over in his mind in a flash: the screams of the officials, the gunfire from the automata, the sound of metal ripping - it almost felt like all of _that_  chaos had been his dream. He recalled the bloodied body, and the last glimpse he'd gotten of Erzsébet's face before he'd been taken away. It was all as fresh in his memory as it had been the night before, and he was sure that would be the case for some time to come.

 _Erzsébet... Is she okay?_ He could only wonder about her, and about the rest of the village. He'd done all that he could for them, but the notion that HQ might not have kept to their word and let them be began to loom over him. If he headed back there now, would he find it in ruins? After what he'd done, he didn't want to even consider it. He had his own safety to worry about, too: he'd been scanned, his data relayed to HQ's database. It was only a matter of time before someone from the capital tried to contact the officials, only to find their radios unresponsive, or check the location of the automata and find them stationary. And if HQ sent out a team for the vehicle, and they didn't find the Samuil Iliya in their custody at the site... Would they consider him an escaped criminal, and search for him? He couldn't be certain. It was a lot to think about after just waking up. The night had faded into morning. For the time being, at least, he could consider himself safe.

He brought himself back into the present, reminding himself that he wasn't alone in the clearing. Fixated on the person in front of him, Marko sat upright. Their head was stooped over their lap, and there was a leather satchel propped up against their thigh; they appeared to be occupied with something. He doubted that it was anyone but the man from the night before. If nothing else, the broad shoulders were a giveaway. That - and the fact he had said he’d be back the morning after. 

The second he tried to leave the cocoon of blankets, the chill of the air caught up to him. Now that he was awake and alert enough to think about it properly, he cursed himself for not having thrown a coat on before leaving his home under the automata’s orders. He hugged the top blanket around his shoulders, and moved closer to the fire.

He would have forced a friendly smile, if he hadn't then recalled the guy having been somewhat of an asshole to him. That in mind, he couldn’t help but wonder how he was going to act this time around. Even if the man had made sure Marko hadn't frozen overnight (who else would it have been?), he had to approach him with some level of caution. Instead of speaking, he took a seat a short distance from both him and the fire, cross-legged.

The man was a little odd looking, but not unattractively so. He was younger, at least in appearance, than Marko had assumed he was, though his initial guess had been based upon the gritty tone of his voice alone. The two of them were about the same age - at least, he doubted there was much of a gap. His eyes were thin and dark, a rich amber, the colour of burnt sugar, and rimmed at the lower lids with dark circles. They were accented by thick cheekbones and a flat jawline. Though it looked unkempt, his mahogany hair fell forwards in bangs at the front. More disheveled than his hair was his clothing; he wore a pair of washed out jeans, gym shoes and an off-brown hooded sweatshirt, and the first thing Marko noticed about both items was the dark patches of dried blood smeared across them. He looked more like a young thug than anything else.

Hands stopping with their task to rest in his lap, he peered up at Marko the moment he’d sat himself down, thick brow furrowed and his wide mouth spread into a hard line. If nothing else, he looked unimpressed. Marko stared back, but cleared his throat before the elongated eye contact could become awkward.

“Mornin’.” He turned his head away, looking towards the fire again; the pleasant warmth was just starting to brush across his face. “Thanks for the blankets.”

There was a pause. For a moment, Marko wondered if he’d even respond to that at all. “Don’t mention it.” It was the same raspy voice he’d heard the night before, albeit quieter.

The brunet continued what he was doing the second the words had left his mouth. Marko glanced over to his lap out of interest. It appeared he was wrapping something together; upon further inspection, it was a bundle of thin, wiry fibers (it was safe to assume he’d stripped them off wood collected to keep the fire going), and he was weaving them into a cord. A curious thing to have been doing; it almost looked like the start of a woven basket, which wouldn't have been a stretch to believe, as the craft was still regularly practiced in The North. However, Marko didn’t bring it up.

In fact, he was more concerned with what else he’d noticed upon watching the man. There were deep gashes on his fingertips and the palms of his hands - so deep that they almost looked open still. Nasty as they seemed by appearances alone, it was only when Marko saw that the man was fumbling with the cord every so often that he took any more interest.

“You’re hurt.” He said, wondering if the blood on the other’s clothes was in fact his own.

“These?” The brunet snorted, adding nonchalantly, “Yeah, kinda happens when you rip the shit outta metal.”

So, that had been what had caused them? Marko had to wonder how much it had hurt. Perhaps the man had been on an adrenaline rush and that had made the pain less noticeable.

“You should wrap ‘em up. They’ll get worse if ya don’t.”

His muttered words gained him a cocked eyebrow.

“I’m making rope outta fucking _tree bark_ , do I look like I’ve got any bandages with me?”

Marko frowned, bristled by the abrupt reply. “Where’d ya get the blankets from, then?”

The man’s attention returned to the cord. “Took ‘em from the HQ vehicle. I went back after I dumped your ass here. No first aid kits or anything in that piece of shit, though.”

A couple of questions stacked up in Marko’s mind. The one of least concern was why the HQ vehicle wasn’t carrying a first aid kit. But, why the brunet had gone back there, that was something he couldn’t help wonder about, even though it was more or less obvious given what he’d just said.

“I have one.” Marko spoke the very moment he remembered that fact. “Seems kinda pointless just treatin’ the one hand, though.” He went on to say; it started to sound like he was just talking to himself. “No disinfectant or anythin’, either.”

“Great, so forget about it. Save us both the hassle.” The words were grunted out.

By this point, Marko was unsure if the man was angry with him, or frustrated with the cord he was struggling with. Therefore, he also didn’t know what kind of answer he was going to get to his next question, “Why did ya save me?”

The brunet slowed his weaving, but didn’t come to a complete stop. Pensiveness crossed his countenance, but only briefly, before his face was back to being sour. “Someone asked me to.”

Upon hearing that, Marko stated, thinking out loud again, “You’re one of the rebels, aren’t ya?”

“Do you gotta ask so many damned questions!?” The man snapped, his body becoming rigid. He shot Marko a glower, nose crinkling. “Yeah, I’m one of ‘em. We got an outpost near your village.” He tossed his hands in the air half-heartedly, going back to making the cord just after. “There I am, trying to have one Goddamned night of peace in that place with the others out, and your friend shows up, telling me she’ll rip out my balls if I don’t do something about _you_ getting your own stupid ass hauled off to prison, or whatever the hell they’re calling it these days.”

It was Erzsébet, then, that had found this guy and asked for his help? Going by what he had said, it sure sounded like her.

“I did it to stop ‘em.” Grumbling a bit, Marko brought his knees up to his chin, wrapping the blanket around them. Already the man had made it clear that he didn’t approve of what Marko had done, it was one of the first things he had said to him the night before. It was irritating. Of all people, he expected a _rebel_ would understand his position. His tone grew harsher. “I’ve seen HQ slaughter hundreds of people on the basis of there bein’ a few criminals in the area.”

The brunet lifted his hand again, but it was to wave his comment off, this time. “Yeah, yeah. Justification for being a stupid fuck. Heard it all before. We arm kids that run off into a line of fire thinking they’re ‘doing the right thing’ ‘cause we’re the rebel force. They come back and say the same kinda thing.” At this point, his voice was almost a drab monotone. “Y’know, if they don’t get their heads blown off by the automata.”

Marko’s spine straightened a bit. “That’s not the same.”

A hefty groan left the man’s mouth. “Sure, it’s not exactly the same. Hell, if you _were_ just some kid, I might not’ve bothered saving your sorry ass at all. But then your friend tells me you’re an Omega and doesn’t leave me with any choice.” He lifted his gaze again, giving Marko a piercing stare. “Almost thought she’d lied to me, actually. I followed the vehicle, but I couldn’t smell a damned thing.” He paused, a hand sliding down to the satchel next to him. “Which reminds me.” After pulling something out, he tossed it in Marko’s direction. “You dropped this.”

The contents of the item clattered when Marko caught it between his hands. Opening them to look at it, he was surprised to find his packet of medication there. The night before, he had placed it in the breast pocket of his shirt, assuming it would be safe there. No doubt it had slipped out without him knowing at some point. It was more than lucky that the man had retraced their steps, then. As important as that medication was, Marko’s mind had been so caught up with everything that was going on, that he hadn’t even realised it had disappeared.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, with a short sigh, returning the small box to the same pocket. Unsure of how to feel about what else had been said, he lowered his gaze back to the fire. Though it hadn’t been stated outright, Marko knew exactly what the man was. If his display of strength and speed hadn’t been enough, in addition to knowing that he was a member of the rebel force, the statement he’d just made (particularly about not being able to ‘smell a damned thing’) more or less confirmed it.

Marko knew he was an Alpha, and by the way things were going, he knew that Marko knew that, too.

For some time that followed, both of them were silent. The brunet seemed as if he didn’t want to talk, and Marko suspected that it was more because he was annoyed with him than the fact that he was occupying himself with the cord making. Soon, the mystery of the cord’s function was solved. The man left his seat by the fire, heading towards the mound of dirt that Marko remembered he had started on the night before. The hole was now filled in, but it was evident that it had been made wider beforehand, a long, rectangular dark patch in the middle of the disturbed snow. There was no sign of the cloaked body.

Besides the hole was a few jagged-edged chunks of wood, and Marko assumed these were spares for the fire - until the man positioned himself a little ways from the edge of the hole with his back to Marko again, pulling something out of his belt.

After he’d taken a chunk of wood in hand, a scraping sound followed. Though he pieced together that the man was carving something out of the wood, Marko didn’t move from his own spot to investigate, opting instead to stay out of his way.

The man moved onto another piece of wood soon after; he didn’t spend nearly as long on either carving as he had done with his weaving.

“Hey.” His voice cut across the clearing suddenly, catching Marko’s attention. He didn’t turn to face him, though. “Throw some snow on the fire.”

Marko glanced at the flames, cracking and licking at the cool air. “Ya want me to extinguish it?”

“Yeah. Can’t stay here forever.” Came the grunted response.

Doing as he was told, Marko rose to his feet, still coiling the blanket around his shoulders. Again cautious of getting himself too close to the fire, he kicked the snow across from some distance, using the side of his foot. It didn’t have much of an effect at first, and it took him some time before the yellow tongues started to shrink down.

His attention in the meantime was partly drawn towards the other man and his task. He was now wrapping the cord around the pieces of wood, binding them together. Marko still didn’t have much of a clue as to his exact intention, but it was soon revealed. The man moved to the end of the dirt mound, and pressed the wooden structure upright into the ground there.

He’d made a cross to mark the grave… Marko was a little surprised. To have gone to so much effort, he either knew the cloaked person well (as they had been a rebel as well), or had just considered giving them a proper burial the right thing to do. Even if it was just a makeshift burial marker, it didn't look like one that had been thrown together overnight. Now that he thought about it, with everything the man had accomplished in the one night, he had to wonder if he’d gotten any kind of sleep at all. No doubt the grave had taken some time to get deep enough, digging by hand alone. An Alpha’s speed could cut that, but it was evident he’d taken care with the size of the hole, not rushing the specifics. His face hadn’t looked tired, but that didn’t say much.

Once the brunet had pushed the marker down with his foot to cement it in the ground, he turned towards Marko again. “The second HQ knows a vehicle carrying automata’s not turned back up, they’re gonna send out a search party. Lucky for your home, there’s snowstorms starting today.” His footsteps crunched as he walked back to the fire. “Bad news is, the automata probably scanned you and logged your identity, meaning once HQ finds you’re not still locked up back there, they’re gonna come looking for you.”

Marko started to collect together a handful of dirt to put on the fire. He paused, then, taking in the man’s words. Indeed, the automata _had_ scanned him, prior to dragging him off to the vehicle. The villagers had been looking on at the time, too. He wondered if any of them had comprehended what it meant when the automata had labeled him as an Omega?

“So.” He began, slowly. “What you’re basically sayin’ is, I can’t go back home right now.”

“Even if you could, you’d be a moron to want to.” The man lifted the satchel and swung it over his shoulder. Then, after Marko had thrown a handful of dirt onto the dwindling fire, he stuck his foot out and began to stamp on the embers. “I’m heading south. It’ll be a few hours walk that way before there’s some kinda civilisation. If you’re gonna come too, you’d better keep up.”

As unpleasant a notion as it was, it seemed Marko was stuck with this guy. Though he didn’t really seem like good company, it was the safest option. As for the fact he was an Alpha… It was still an unspoken matter, but as long as Marko had his medication with him, he figured everything would be fine.

He _hoped_ everything would be fine.


	3. Chapter 3

Time passed excruciatingly slow, when their journey had begun. Leaving the clearing behind, Marko followed the brunet as he strode through the shaded canopy of firs, which seemed to be endless. 'South' had been a very vague term, he couldn't pinpoint the exact location they were going to end up in – at the very least, he could rule out Utopia, and that was of some reassurance. It could have been a rebel outpost they were headed to, or another northern village. 'Civilisation' was a pretty vague term in that regard, too.

When they first started walking, the man had kept a solid pace up, but the longer the time dragged out, the more steady it became. The tension in his shoulders he'd been displaying so far loosened as well. It was easy to assume he was getting tired. Marko couldn’t say he was surprised, after the events of the night before.

Marko walked a step behind him during this time. The thicker the clusters of trees grew, the darker their path was. The scent of pine and damp wood intensified. Seeing as how the man was at least acting like he knew where he was going, Marko could only follow him. He’d lived in The North for a couple of years, but he couldn’t navigate the wilderness, and on top of that, he didn’t know for sure where abouts they were. A rebel operating in the area would have a much better grasp of their location as well as the terrain about them, there was no denying that.

Time might well have been passing slower because they were back to saying nothing to one another. There were only so many times that listening to the birds fluttering and chirping high in the tops of the trees could be interesting. The only other thing Marko could think of to busy his mind was one strange physical factor he noticed about the brunet now that the two of them were on their feet - he was a couple of inches shorter than Marko. Alphas would be taller than Omegas, typically, but it wasn’t always the case. He wondered if the other’s initial attitude was anything to do with that; he was well aware that Alphas didn’t tend to like feeling inferior to their counterparts in any way. Or, perhaps because of the suppressants, Marko didn't _feel_ like an Omega to him whatsoever. Would the man's attitude have been any different if that wasn't the case? He didn't know. All he did know was that travelling with the man, however far across the frigid North he was going to drag him, wasn't going to be the most enjoyable of journeys, and that was putting his unfortunate circumstance aside. He'd known that before they'd set off.

After what might have been an hour of them dragging their feet through pine-needle strewn snow (or perhaps it hadn’t been that long at all), the man’s head made a slight turn, like he was preparing to glance over his shoulder - but, he didn’t.

“So.” He said, tone far more relaxed than Marko had heard it before. “You got a name, Omega? I mean, if not, I can just call you that.”

“Marko.” Came the prompt reply.

The man made a noise somewhere between a hum and a grunt. It seemed to be in acknowledgement, as he spoke again a moment later. “Don’t remember the name. What was your batch number?”

It was a strange feeling. Since he’d moved to The North, Marko had only ever spoken about that kind of thing with Erzsébet, and even then, he’d never needed to discuss specifics like his name and number with her. “131-181115.”

Nodding his head a little, the brunet stated, “Thought you were a 131. Same here.” That didn’t come as much of a shock to Marko. 131 was nothing but the number given to the set of Alphas and Omegas of their age group, of which there was a five year bracket. What made 131 unique, if it could be described as that, was that they had been the final set to have bred.

There were many Alphas and Omegas in 131 alone, though. Given that they were segregated for the most part as well, it wasn’t odd that the two of them had never come across one another before. And if they had, even just in passing, it was obvious that neither of them remembered it. It did seem weird to think about regardless - if HQ had chosen differently, then perhaps this guy would have been assigned as Marko’s Alpha.

The way things were going so far, he was glad that hadn’t been the case.

“Hmn. Who was your warden, then? Maybe I knew her.” The man went on to say.

Marko bit the inside of his lip. He hesitated, but only to think over his answer; beyond the program, he'd never spoken of Erzsébet as anything other than just his friend. He coughed a little, but managed to answer anyway. “Hédeváry. Uh...” He remembered then that she had been the one that sent the brunet after him, according to what he’d told him. “She was the one who found ya last night.”

The man came to a halt. For a split second, it looked like he was about to stumble over. Instead, he turned to Marko; his dark eyes were widened and glinting in what little light was poking through the trees. “What, really? That was _Hédeváry_?” He sounded incredulous, and it was almost hard to believe it was genuine.

“Yeah…?” Marko’s reply was slow; it was almost a cautious one. Erzsébet hadn’t been that notorious, had she?

After a pause, the brunet whistled an exhale, turning back around to continue on. “Geeze, I’d heard she was a bitch, but I sure as hell didn’t expect her to be _that_ bad.”

Marko frowned. “She’s just got a nasty temper. Who told ya that, anyway?”

Slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans, the man replied with a milder tone than ever, “My Omega did. She was his warden, too. He hated her guts, and man, if that was really her, I sure as hell don’t blame him.” He drew in a deep breath through his nose after that, tilting his head upwards.

Something clicked in Marko’s mind, all of a sudden. Prior to the dissolution of the program, set 131 had been each assigned their respective Alphas and Omegas. This would commence the day the youngest in the set had turned eighteen. Until then, Alphas and Omegas lived in HQ’s lab, where they had been born and raised; prior to their assignments, they were kept in groups of seven, aptly named ‘packs’. Packs would tend to function as a family unit. Though they often became close friends, the general function of packs was for organisational purposes. They would share living quarters, and a warden - a member of HQ’s Women’s Corps who, before the creation of the automata and their supporting officers, had served as their brand of military police.

And there was only one of Marko’s pack who hated Erzsébet.

“Ya don’t mean… Mihai?”

“Yeah.” The brunet looked like he was about to stop and turn around again. Marko got the impression he wanted to say more than that, but instead changed the topic a bit, “Er, well, he told me the names of the other five, but I sure as hell don’t remember a ‘Marko’ being mentioned.”

His name was something else that was an uncomfortable subject to talk about. But, Marko figured that the man would understand his change of identity, all things considered. “I wasn’t called Marko back then. I took on this name after I came to The North.” His hands clenched in his blankets; one was tucked under his arm, the other still draped over his shoulders. “My birth name’s... Samuil.”

The other man came to a stop once more. He gave Marko a hard stare; even more shocked, this time. “What!? Why the hell didn’t you say that first!?” He rose his voice a bit, but the volume died back down. “You’re...” He cast his gaze downwards, and looked conflicted. “Shit, you’re _Samuil_.”

Marko couldn’t comment too much on that. He was feeling pretty amazed at the coincidence; it overshadowed the strangeness of speaking his old name and hearing it spoken back. “Yeah, I mean, shit, you’re Mihai’s Alpha.” Knowing that, his initial distaste for the man's attitude lessened a little.

A hard line formed on the man’s lips. Though he kept his head down, he peered up at Marko; his eyes narrowed. It wasn’t a look of suspicion, though; his expression was at first pained, but he then tried to force a more neutral look.

“I _was_ Mihai’s Alpha.” With that, he kept walking.

Stepping after him, Marko felt a very sore pang in the depths of his chest. He feared the worst, but pressed the man for confirmation, “’Was’?”

The brunet breathed deep, and the words that followed were more than a little forlorn, “Yeah. He’s gone, now.”

 _Vague_. It was clearly a sore subject, but Marko had to know what had happened to Mihai. His heart rate rose. “Gone? Ya mean...  _Gone_?”

“ _Yeah_ , I mean _gone_.” The words sounded like they were supposed to have been snapped out, but the man just didn’t have it in him to do so. Even so, the depths of Marko's chest clenched like he'd been screamed at out of nowhere. “It was HQ.” The Alpha's body started to tense again, the muscles on the back of his neck tightening. “Ghh. Look, I know he was your best friend and all, but...”

All Marko could mutter out in response to that was an “It’s fine”, hushed, head bowed and mouth dry. It was a shock to the system. Mihai had indeed been his best friend, and though Marko had never seen him after the program had disbanded, he had always thought he was somewhere out there in the world, maybe even with the rebels. He remembered his face like he'd seen it the day before; he was a little strange looking, with reddish-blonde hair, a curved jaw and spiky teeth that he liked to show off. To think that he wasn’t there anymore, not smiling merrily, or playing pranks on people, or even just living his life at all, it was almost too much to comprehend.

And it had been HQ’s doing? In that regard, he could also sympathise with the other man. When the initial shock of hearing about Mihai subsided, it opened up a few sore memories. He tried to suppress them, clinging on tighter to the blankets like they were going to fall off somehow.

It took some time before Marko could even think to speak again. “I lost my Alpha, too.”

“In The South?” The man asked, his voice hoarse. The South was the terminology used to refer to the lands below Utopia's borders. The militia consisting of Alphas and Omegas had claimed much of these lands prior to HQ's dissolution of their program, and to the best of Marko's knowledge, the conquest had continued to persist afterwards. HQ had deemed it more efficient to send automata into battle, as automata were easy to reclaim and repair if damaged. A dead Alpha was more than useless to them - and dead many were: the conflict in The South was as bloody as it was fruitless. It was part of the reason the resistance existed, and appealed to so many of the Alphas and Omegas discarded by HQ.

“Mnh.” Was the affirmative noise he made. “Sorry, it’s kinda hard to talk about as well.” He stared at the back of the brunet’s head for a moment, wondering if he should say anything else.

Perhaps the fact they didn’t exchange anything more about it for the next few minutes that followed was for the best. A bright light became visible ahead, between an opening in the trees. They stepped out into an open area; a dirt path cut through the forest in a thin strip, with the woodland continuing on the opposite side. The hazy morning sky had already disappeared, and above them hung a grim expanse of grey, the air thick and frosty. The snowstorms were coming, and soon.

Marko looked towards the man as he stepped onto the path, heading to the left. He almost asked him if he actually did know which way they were supposed to be going, but again, he kept it to himself. Instead, once he’d jogged to catch up to him, ending up on his right side this time, he brought something else up - a matter that had been nagging at the back of his mind for most of the morning. “By the way, ya didn’t tell me your name.”

The brunet gave him a sidelong glance, though it was fleeting. He seemed to find the fact that Marko had started walking alongside him odd and was reacting to that, rather than to the statement itself, because just afterwards, he gave his answer. “It’s Vuk.”

After motioning with his head to show he’d acknowledged that, Marko turned his attention back to the trail they were following. Knowing his name somehow made things feel stranger; under normal circumstances it would have been the first thing he’d have found out about him. He felt like less of a mystery now, like his name alone was his anchor to reality.

This man - Vuk - had been his best friend’s Alpha. With just his name and that fact in mind, he was already a little more familiar. Sure, the two of them were still strangers, but their connections to Mihai were a common enough ground, if their being of the same kind wasn't.

His only reservation was that they hadn’t gotten off on the right foot. If his assumptions were correct, then Vuk was going through a specific part of an Alpha’s cycle; everything about him - from his attitude, to the strength and speed he’d displayed before - lined up with that time, which would fluctuate in intensity over the course of the week it took. Typically, it was possible for an Alpha to tap into the inhuman powers when necessary during those weeks - HQ had primed them to do so.

Which lead Marko to wonder, a little later on, whilst they were stepping down a hill on the pathway, “You’re not tired, are ya?”

“As hell.” Came the gruff reply.

Marko was still feeling the tight pain in his chest from what he’d been told about Mihai. And they had been walking for some time. He was aching, in more ways than one. “We could stop and take a breather.”

Vuk observed the sky for a couple of moments. Then, he halted. “Five minutes, yeah? The snow’ll come soon. I don’t wanna get stuck in that shit.” Opening his satchel, he pulled out a package, wrapped up in brown paper. He presented it to Marko. “It’s bread. Eat if you’re hungry.”

After taking the item from the other, Marko took a seat at the edge of the pathway. “Thanks.” His mind had been so busy trying to take into account everything that was going on, that he hadn’t thought much about food at all, nor had he felt hungry. But knowing that it was a stupid idea to continue the walk on an empty stomach, he unfolded the crackling paper, revealing the roll of bread inside.

Watching Vuk start to pace around (which seemed to defeat the purpose of them taking a break), Marko brought the roll to his lips and took a small bite. It tasted bland and had been over-salted, and the texture was gritty, but it wasn’t completely inedible. He didn’t ask whether or not Vuk was going to eat anything either. Maybe he already had, before Marko had woken that morning. In fact, Marko was more interested in just keeping his eyes on him. It appeared he was lugging around for the sake of staying on his feet, his hands deep in his pockets, and he was looking anywhere except in Marko’s direction.

Still sore from the revelation that had been thrown at him, Marko ate half the roll before deciding to speak again; he was still unsure if bringing the topic back up was the wrong thing to do or not. “So, uh. I know it’s hard to talk about, but Mihai was my best friend.” His tone went a little sheepish, when Vuk stopped mid-step. “I wanna know what happened to him. It doesn’t have to be right now, but, y’know, sometime?”

“ _Sometime_.” Vuk repeated, stonily. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

Marko didn’t think it had been five minutes, but wrapping the bread back up and stowing it away with the folded up blanket, he rose back to his feet. “That’s reassurin’.” He said it with sarcasm, albeit only a slight amount, because whilst the off-handedness wasn’t, the answer itself was enough for him.

Their walk recommenced. The cool breeze grew stronger, the further along the path they headed, soon turning into a bitter wind. After some time, spent pushing against the oncoming gale as it intensified, the ‘civilisation’ Vuk had spoken of started to appear. The forest started to break up and in its place were open patches of land spread across the rugged ground. There were vast yet neat square areas where the snow had been cleared; pastures that would be used for grazing animals, though there was no sign of such life - or any life - in sight.

Though Marko had never been to this part of The North himself, he knew of the villages that existed in the area. The ones that worked farmland would tend to be bigger than his own; in spite of which, no settlement out there was self-sufficient, as it had been many, many years ago, before Utopia’s formation. The majority of the produce was collected (along with taxes), taken to the capital, and from there redistributed. At least, ‘redistributed’ was how HQ described it; most of it never got much further than the central hub of Utopia itself. That was why the smaller settlements never really flourished. But, Marko supposed that he, himself, didn’t mind that. He’d come to The North to find a life of peace, so that the capital and its troubles would always seem a million miles away.

Just as they had come to a flatter part of the path, a person came into view. A hooded jacket pulled up over their head, they were oncoming in a stride, their hands stuffed into their pockets, and there was a small pack perched on their back. The closer they came, the easier it was to see that the lone figure was rather short and not very well-built, but as odd as Marko found their being there as a whole, he didn’t really take much else into consideration until Vuk stopped walking, eyes fixated on the person.

He then sniffed the air a couple of times, his brow furrowing as if in confusion, “It’s an Alpha.” Another sniff, louder. “A young one, too. His scent’s not mature.”

A young Alpha? Marko observed the approaching form again. His head was downcast and his face covered, and he was kicking his feet a bit. He did seem to look like a child, stomping away from a lost argument.

“What’s he doin’ out here?” Marko asked, hushed.

Vuk shrugged a bit. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“It’s probably not the same.”

The boy continued to step onwards, and the two of them were still as they watched him. He tried to act like he wasn’t aware of their presence; despite having looked up from under his hood a couple of times, he peered straight back down to the ground again afterwards. Then, once he’d gotten close to them, he didn’t stop - he tried walking straight through the gap between them, and both of them were forced to shuffle back a bit to let him through.

Marko exchanged a brief, taken aback glance with Vuk, before he turned back to the boy, “Hey, ya know there’s a storm comin’, right?”

The boy froze, body tensing up. In a high-pitched, jittery tone, he replied without turning back around, “I-I’m not supposed to talk to strangers!”

He was about to stride off again, but before he could, Vuk had stepped in front of him.

“That’s great and all, but we’re not strangers.”

“Well, I’ve never seen you before!” The boy recoiled a bit.

Vuk appeared to be unimpressed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I doubt you would’ve. What are you, like, ten or something? Set 133? 134?” Sounding like the topic of the program was mundane, he looked over at Marko again. “What do you think?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about! And I’m twelve, if you must know!” The boy huffed angrily, trying to stomp around Vuk, who only kept shifting to block his path. The more this happened, the more frustrated - and the more nervous - he became. “Wh-What’s your problem!?” With Vuk looming over him like that, it was no wonder the poor kid’s feet were scuffling backwards.

“Show me your wrist.” Vuk demanded, jabbing his forefinger towards the smaller Alpha’s left arm.

“What?” The boy almost choked out.

“You heard me. I’m gonna show you we’re not strangers.”

Marko frowned, interjecting, “Are ya sure that’s entirely necessary? I thought we had somewhere to be. Y’know, somewhere outta the oncomin’ snow.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Vuk made a dismissive motion in Marko’s direction. “So, the sooner we get this over with, the better.”

Though Marko knew what was on the boy’s wrist, he didn’t know why Vuk wanted to see it, or even what point he was trying to prove to the boy with it. Therefore, he just sighed at the response.

Surprisingly, the boy took his hands out of his pockets; he seemed to have realised that Vuk wouldn’t let him pass unless he did as he was told. Huffing, he rolled the sleeve of his right arm up, exposing pale skin beneath. Though Marko couldn’t see from where he stood, Vuk hovered over the boy, examining his wrist. At first he had a sort of triumphant look about him, but then, his expression dropped, his eyes going wide.

“The fuck is _that_?” His voice was almost dubious.

“I-It’s an Alpha symbol of course!” The boy retorted.

Vuk shook his head. “Nah, kid, that’s not...” He hesitated a bit. “That’s... I dunno.” His attention shifted to Marko again. “Come look at this.”

Moving towards them, Marko soon saw what the fuss was about. On the boy’s wrist was a black mark - a tattoo, in fact - but it was a series of thin, uneven lines muddled together. It was like someone had scribbled over the boy’s Alpha symbol with a black marker.

“Weird.” Marko muttered.

The boy attempted to move around them again, pulling his sleeve back down. “I-I’ve shown you it now, so let me through!”

Vuk didn’t get in his way this time. Instead, after the startled look had left his face, he called towards the boy as he bolted into a run, “Where’re you going, anyway? Like this guy said, there’s a snowstorm on its way.”

“That’s none of your beeswax!” Came the boy’s yelled response, and, if possible, his choice of words made him sound all the more juvenile.

Though Vuk clicked his tongue and made to head off the way the boy had come, Marko stood watching the smaller Alpha depart for a little longer. A little while later and Vuk had wandered his way back to Marko’s side; by that time, the boy had crossed the nearby hill and was out of sight.

“What is it now?”

In spite of what he had said before, there was a certain discomfort Marko felt about watching the boy disappear over the horizon. “Where d’ya think he’s goin’?”

“Who knows? It’s none of our ‘beeswax’, remember?” Vuk snorted. “It’s one hell of a walk that way to find shelter. Hope the kid knows how to keep warm.”

Glancing between Vuk and the route the boy had taken, Marko chewed it over. Even if he was an Alpha, his symbol aside, he was still very young. Twelve, he’d told them. Where he was going was, in fact, an inferior question to why he was alone and where his carers were (assuming that they existed, but then, he wouldn’t have survived to be twelve without someone looking after him).

“I’m gonna go after him.” Marko said in a conclusive voice, starting to step back the way they had come. “He’s probably not gone far, you can wait here.”

The sound of Vuk’s footsteps tracked him a moment later.

“Listen, dipshit, I’m not spending another night sleeping in the fucking snow for that kid! Unless you already managed to forget, _there’s a storm coming_!”

“Yeah, I know. So the sooner I find him, the better.”

In spite of what Marko had said about him staying put, Vuk continued to pursue him. “Idiot, he ran off! He doesn’t wanna be found!”

“And neither did I!” Marko snapped, whipping around and facing Vuk straight up. His sudden outlash startled them both, but he continued to speak, “I didn’t ask for you to come save me from HQ, but ya did. Ya even said it yourself - that ya did it ‘cause I’m an Omega. I’m one of your kind.” He felt a bit unsure at the words that were coming out of his mouth. He didn’t think the boy being like them had much to do with his own reasons to want to go after him. “What makes that kid any different?”

“Don’t even go there.” Vuk straightened his back, glaring into Marko’s eyes. “Your wanting to help people got you stuck in HQ’s custody in the first place!”

“I did what I had to do. And I’ll do it again.” Marko quietened his voice, before turning around and picking his pace up. He got quicker and quicker until he was in a full run, doubting that Vuk could tap into his Alpha speed at that moment to outrun him - he had seemed too drained to do so.

He didn’t even know if Vuk was still following him at a regular pace. The further he got back up and down the hills towards the forested area again, the more he started to feel a little bad for having reacted like that. It was strange; it didn’t seem so much that he regretting raising his voice, but more that he felt like he’d lied to Vuk when he’d told him he’d ‘done what he had to do’.

It was almost like he was acting how he thought he was supposed to act. How a _doctor_ was supposed to act - selflessly, always putting others before himself. Why then didn’t it feel like a chore of sorts, to be chasing after that boy? Wouldn't anyone with half a brain - or heart, even - have done the same?

The chill of the wind scraped at his face as he ran. He tried to put the thoughts to one side and focus on keeping his speed up. The walls of trees seemed to go on for miles, and it was impossible to pinpoint where he and Vuk had left the forested area and arrived on the track earlier. In fact, there was nothing to say the boy hadn’t veered off into the woodland. He hoped that wasn’t the case.

Assuming he had stayed on the path, though, Marko figured it wouldn’t be long before he found him. The boy was practically half his size, so even at a full run without getting tired, he wouldn’t be able to reach the same pace Marko could. Sooner or later, he’d catch up to him.

The only problem was Marko had already been on his feet for most of that morning already. By the time his legs were too sore for him to keep running, there was still no sign of the boy. Forced to stop to catch his breath, he leant over, dropping both blankets and the rolled up package of bread down to the ground. His face and body were starting to sweat, which made the lack of a warm wrapping around his shoulders much colder. Heaving his breaths in and out, he noticed there were still crunching footsteps behind him. Vuk had come too, after all, then? The answer to that came next.

Vuk didn’t waste any time in grabbing Marko by the collar of his shirt, his face twisted into a nasty-looking scowl. Before Marko could react, in astonishment or otherwise, the other man drew back his fist and slammed it into his jaw.

He didn’t know whether it was from the force of the punch, or Vuk tossing him away like he’d done in the clearing the night before, but the next thing Marko knew, he was slumped on the floor, clutching at the excruciating pain on his face. And only then did he process what had happened.

“Wh-What the fuck was that for!?” He managed to spit out. Though his limbs were sore from both the run and the fall, the punch had hurt far worse. He was indeed surprised that Vuk hadn’t done what he’d said he might do the night before and knocked his head clean off. He shot the Alpha a glare, whilst chewing the inside of his mouth a bit to make sure that none of his teeth had been broken. If they weren’t, he’d have gotten off lucky.

“ _You piece of shit_!!” Vuk hissed. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your fucking righteous get-up, thanks to you we’re gonna be caught up in that damned storm that’s coming!”

Marko pulled himself to his feet. In spite of how painful it was, nothing in his jaw seemed to be broken. “I told ya to stay back there.” He began to collect the things he had dropped together.

Coldly, Vuk responded, “I told you that I wasn’t spending another night in the snow, but look what we’re gonna have to do now, huh?"

Sure enough, as if on queue, a few flecks of white began to drift down from above. The expanse of grey above was so full, it wouldn’t be long before it would start to come down in a blizzard.

“Go, then.” Marko said, bitter. After getting both hit and yelled at, he didn’t really want Vuk around him anyway. He didn’t care that he didn’t know the area well enough to get by on his own any more. And truth be told, he did also want to get out of the cold before the storm became unbearable. So, the sooner he found the boy, the better.

Once he’d got everything (though he didn’t bother to throw the blanket back over his shoulders), he started to pace forwards, the wear in his legs becoming very apparent again. Though he couldn’t run, he could walk fast, but even that was exhausting. And all the while, the snowy gale rushed past, bringing more flakes down to the earth. And also, to his amazement, Vuk’s footsteps continued after him, too. Marko didn’t turn around, or speak to him again.

It seemed like time had begun to lull again. It had perhaps been an hour when light began to break in the trees, at the top of an oncoming hill - yet, it felt like much longer. Marko couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since he and Vuk had actually left the clearing that morning. He didn’t have a watch or anything of the sort with him, and there was no sun to check the position of, either. But soon, things did start to look up, when he trudged his way over the hill - and came to the very edge of the woodland.

Where the trees ended, there was a large ravine. Both cliff faces were straight drops, like they had been hacked out of the landscape with a massive blade. Marko knew of this part of The North, but hadn’t actually seen it for himself - there was a large river at the bottom of the gorge that fed several smaller rivers, including one near to his own village; beneath the snowstorm, he could hear its rushes crashing and echoing on the sides of the cliff. He’d heard Mikkel talk about it to his hunting buddies before ("This new trail's gonna take us down the length of the _Isarco_ ", he'd said, "Though as you guys know, our side of it's not exactly the smoothest of walks, so watch where you put your feet"). It was considered somewhat of a landmark, and useful for someone to follow the edge of if they needed to find a road; there were several bridges that crossed the river, some more secure than others. It soon became apparent that this might have been the boy’s idea - because there he was, trying to cross the rickety rope bridge at the end of the path.

His hood still up, he was clinging to the handrail as the whole thing swung and croaked in the blustering wind that howled through the hollow of the gorge. It was lucky, in a way, that the bridge had been there, as the boy hadn’t gotten far across it. He seemed too cautious of the way it was swinging to just dart straight over to the other side. Marko didn’t blame him - it looked like a death trap. The base of the bridge was made of weather-beaten panels of wood, it wouldn’t have been surprising if they were rotting inside, and the ropes were held at each edge by pillars of the same wood. He doubted anyone had maintained the bridge since it was erected.

Yet still, the boy seemed to be pressing on. He was stubborn, Marko had to admit. Thinking briefly about his argument with Vuk, he figured the boy and himself weren’t unalike in that regard. The young Alpha had his arms coiled around the rope and was taking careful steps over each piece of wood.

Marko stepped towards the edge of the gorge, and then, his heart leapt to his throat.

 _Crack_. The boy screamed.

But, he didn’t fall. His arms around the rope tightened, and he moved his foot back to the last panel. His collective weight on said piece of wood must have also been too much though, as that piece also splintered and crumbled, the halves that were bound to the ropes dropping open and the remnants dropping down - far, far down, into the gushing river below.

He cried out again. He managed to hold on to the rope, but with the bridge still swaying to and fro, it looked like he’d soon lose either his grip or his new footing on the lower piece of rope. The blizzard whipped on; Marko was shivering from the cold, his fingers starting to grow numb. But the boy didn’t look like he was shaking in that same way; his shoulders were rattling from his faint sobs.

After placing his belongings down, Marko tested the first piece of wood beneath his foot. Like the others, it made a cracking noise, though it didn’t drop entirely. If the panels could disintegrate beneath the boy’s weight, then under Marko’s there was no question that they would. Instead, he lunged his leg across as far as he could onto the lower rope, extending his hand in the young Alpha’s direction.

“Kid!” He yelled, watching as the boy’s head lifted and glanced towards him. His face was visible, but Marko still couldn’t make much out about it then and there. “C’mon! Grab my hand!”

“I-I can’t!!” Came the shrieked response. “If I let go I’ll…!”

Marko felt a lot of weight on his shoulders, at that moment. If he made one wrong move, either of them, or both of them, would plummet straight down into the river. And by the looks of the rushing current, that was more or less a death sentence. _It’s not scary. You’ve done things like this before, hundreds of times. Be strong. He needs you to be strong._

“I’m not gonna let ya fall.” Marko said, being as frank as he could in a situation where he couldn’t be sure of his own words at all. “I swear it.”

Moments passed, the flurry of snow raging on, as the boy stared at him. The hood didn’t fall, but the updraft whipped it up a little, enough for Marko to see the look of both despair and hope on his young face.

“Please.” Marko muttered, stretching his hand as far as it would go, almost straining to do so.

The boy took care in unfolding the arm nearest to Marko from the rope, his other still hanging tight. He reached towards him, and the second their hands met, Marko locked them together in a firm grip. And then, he called out over the wind for the boy to let go. The moment he released the rope, Marko heaved the boy towards himself, tucking him under his arm.

But then, dread set in again. Holding onto the boy in that position made it almost impossible to pull himself back to the cliff edge without tumbling over. He started to think as fast as he could, panicking inside whilst trying his best to shift his weight back over to the solid ground. The moving ropes didn’t help whatsoever.

Then, all of a sudden, a coarse-skinned hand grabbed the wrist he was still holding onto the handrail with. In a strong tug, it pulled the both of them back over to safety. Marko didn’t even have time to look over before he was falling down again, the boy dropping from his hold and being the one to fly off, this time; he tumbled a little ways over on the ground, whilst Marko found himself on top of something softer and warmer.

Vuk was staring up at him, looking just as unimpressed as he had done when they’d last made eye contact. Still annoyed with him, Marko made a discomforted (and slightly embarrassed) grimace, before rolling off him. “Thanks.” He grunted, starting to dust himself off.

Still sniffling, the boy shuffled up to his feet. It was remarkable that his hood hadn’t fallen down yet. He peered over to the other side of the ravine, like he was longing to get to the other side. By the time Vuk was sat back up, Marko had made to gather his blankets together again, wrapping the unfurled one back around his shoulders and glad of the warmth it brought back to him.

“Hey, kid, are ya plannin’ to stay here all day?” Marko asked, his attention back on the boy. There was no reply, so he pressed, “Don’t ya wanna go home instead of trekking out here in the storm?”

The young Alpha wiped at his face with the back of his hand. “I don’t want to go home!”

“Where do you wanna go, then?” Marko squatted down to his level. “Ya can’t stay out here, ya might freeze to death.”

“I wanted to go to my uncle’s house.” The boy let out a dejected sigh.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“B-Because.” He seemed reluctant to answer, as if he was well aware the next thing to come out of his mouth was very childish. “My parents are mean.”

Vuk snorted a little ways away. Marko ignored him. “Ya probably don’t really think that...”

“They are!!” The boy protested. “A-All I did was break a few windows. And vases. O-Or eight. And a table.”

“What, accidentally?” Marko asked, but he was cut off before he could say anything else.

“Sounds like you don’t have control over yourself yet.” Vuk spoke up, this time, though he still voiced his words in a somewhat uncaring manner. “How old did you say you were again?”

“ _Twelve_.” The boy huffed.

Marko gave it a quick think over, before turning to Vuk. “The program started the military training at that age, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Vuk shoved his hands back into his pockets. “Most of it went on making sure the younger ones had some kinda restraint. Alphas are kinda like time bombs otherwise.”

 _No kidding_ , Marko thought, wryly.

Once again the boy made a sniffing noise. “My parents don’t get it. No one at home does. They’re not like me.”

“We are, though.” Marko almost poked his left arm out of the blanket to show his wrist, but stopped, instead looking towards Vuk again. “Show him.”

For a moment, he didn’t know if Vuk was going to comply or not. But then he stepped towards the boy, rolling up his sleeve. He presented his pulse point, the part on his skin where the thick black **α** was tattooed.

“That doesn’t look like mine.” The boy muttered.

“Yeah, well, yours is wrong. All the Alphas have this symbol.” Vuk said, retracting his arm and covering it again. “Now, are we actually gonna start getting the hell outta this snow?”

The snow had started to settle and was thickening with every minute that passed. Marko rose back to his feet and motioned for the boy to follow them, stepping after Vuk as he made for the path again.

“C’mon, let’s find your parents, yeah?”

For a moment, it seemed like the young Alpha wasn’t going to come with them. After casting his gaze towards the other side of the ravine again, he stepped towards Marko, and followed after him.


	4. Chapter 4

When the onslaught of snow seemed to be at its worst, Vuk was just a dark figure a few yards ahead, distorted by the lashings of white. Marko had offered the boy, who stuck at his side as best he could, his spare blanket to help act as a wind breaker. Neither blanket seemed to be doing much for either of them in that regard.

The brisk chill rattled the ache in Marko's jaw, reminding him of what Vuk had done earlier. For that reason, he was glad that the other man was keeping his distance again. He understood his situation, but that didn't excuse the punch. What the _hell_ was that guy's problem?

At the speed they were going, pushing against the gale as they retraced their steps, it could well have taken them the rest of the day to reach the boy's home. It was dark out already, but only because the weather was so vile – there was no possibility of evening settling in just yet.

Even so, it still felt like they’d been walking an entire day.

The boy’s hands were still in his pockets, and his hood hadn't moved from over his head. He walked with a slight slump and said nothing - not that it was possible to converse with the wind howling so loud in the first place. If that barrier hadn’t been there, Marko would have asked for his name, at least.

Vuk’s outline soon drew closer. For a short while, Marko thought that he was just getting slower on his feet, but it became obvious once he and the boy had caught up that Vuk had come to a complete standstill, and was staring forwards at something approaching. A growling noise, paired with two glinting lights and a large, curved outline signalled an oncoming vehicle. Marko began to step to the side, but Vuk and the boy didn’t.

He had assumed they too would move, and in fact, didn’t notice they hadn’t until the vehicle had stalled, in front of where Vuk and the boy were stood. It was a hefty, navy-coloured 4-wheel drive, with tracks on its tyres; it was prepared for winter conditions and more than likely belonged to someone living in the area.

Marko saw that just as the car came to a stop, the boy half-shuffled behind Vuk, as if he were trying to hide. It almost looked like he was going to make a sudden break in the opposite direction again.

Though the engine stayed on, the driver’s door cracked open. A remarkable looking man slid out of the car. At least as tall as Marko, if not taller, and wider across the shoulders, he wore a dark coat neatly buttoned at the front, and a pair of wire-thin glasses were perched upon his rectangular face. His hair was short, thick and blond, combed forwards into a swept fringe. The moment he rose out of the car, the snow began to fleck at his glasses, distorting any view of his eyes, but he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he didn’t even shut the car door before he strode towards Vuk.

For a moment it looked like the man was just going to hover over Vuk in an intimidating manner and tell him to get out of the way of the path. Vuk moved, but not for that reason. Instead, the man’s attention went straight to the hooded boy. He said nothing, but shrunk to his level, and pulled him into a hug.

The boy showed no resistance. When the wind was quieter, his small voice could be heard, again with a sniffle, “M’sorry I ran off, Papa.” He still sounded a tad irritated, and like he wasn’t all that sorry at all.

“S’okay.” The blond man’s tone was gruff and almost void of all emotion; it grumbled, like his jaw was seized up and he couldn’t form the words correctly. “Jus’ come b’ck now, _yah_?”

Marko gave Vuk a quick glance, silently asking him if he was going to speak up. Upon deciding that wasn’t going to happen, Marko did so, himself, “Err.” He began, rubbing the back of his neck a bit, looking down towards the back of the blond man’s head. “We bumped into your son on this track and thought it was kinda odd that he’d be out on his own. So we decided we’d bring him back home.” Though he skimmed the details, he assumed it would be enough to make the man know that he and Vuk weren’t a threat to his son’s safety - if that had even been his feelings towards them at all.

The man released the boy and rose to his full height, before turning to face Marko. He gave him a slow nod of acknowledgement, and muttered, just loud enough to be heard over the blizzard. “Th’nks.”

Though Marko opened his mouth to respond, he was cut off when he saw the hooded boy hop over towards Vuk. He gave his sleeve a couple of sharp tugs.

“H-Hey, Mister, you’ll tell Papa why there’s nothing weird about me, right?” His voice started to raise a few octaves, like it was about to crack at any moment. “Right!?”

Vuk cast a somewhat blank stare downwards. He was quiet for a short time longer, whilst the blond man gave him an expectant look. Then, he replied, “Weird, huh? You seem plenty weird, kid, but not ‘cause you broke a few vases and shit.”

There was a light thudding noise, and Vuk winced a bit, backing away from the boy - who, evidently, had just kicked him in the shin.

“You jerk! You’re supposed to tell him I’m not weird at all!! Jerk!! _Jerk_!!” He lunged forwards, attempting to kick him again. Vuk stopped him by pressing his hand to the boy’s forehead and giving him a hefty shove backwards.

The boy’s father shook his head a bit, though he didn’t say anything about the kicking nor the shoving.

“Uh, I think he’s tryin’ to get him to tell ya that they’re the same.” Marko said to the blond man.

“'Same'?”

Even when the boy had landed on his backside, he continued to yell “Jerk!! JERK!!” over and over as he scrambled to get to his feet.

“Yeah. That guy’s an Alpha, like your son is.”

The man made a grunting noise. It sounded a little pensive, and his brow began to furrow under the frame of his glasses. “ _Ey._ ” He said, directing his voice at Vuk, who looked ready to defend himself from the thrashing boy again. “Get in th’car. W’nna talk t’ya.”

Rolling his eyes a bit, Vuk responded with initial sarcasm, “Sorry, as much as I’d _love_ to help out with your family issues, this idiot and I’ve gotta get moving.”

Silent for another moment, the blond man looked down the wintery path, into the depths of snowy grey that his car had emerged from. “Where y’headed?”

Vuk turned his head in the same direction. “The next town.”

“S’where we live. C’n give ya a ride.” The man said this in a very firm tone. He didn’t seem to want to be rude about it but also wanted to be as upfront with Vuk as he could be.

Marko sure as hell hoped Vuk didn’t plan on turning the offer down. There they were in the middle of a flurry of snow, one he’d been complaining about getting stuck in, and here was someone offering them a ride to their destination. To be stubborn about something like that was pure stupidity.

“Fine.” Vuk said, much to Marko’s relief. “There’s an inn in that town. Drop us there.”

“ _Yah_.” Came the man’s drawled answer. “M’wife’nd I run it.”

Vuk looked less than impressed. “Fine.” He snapped his fingers and made a thumbing motion towards Marko. “Hey, idiot, get in the car.”

That was annoying. Out of instinct, forgetting that there was a child present, Marko lifted his hand and flipped him off. “I’m not a dog.” He huffed, wishing that there weren’t other people around. He would've liked to have given him a piece of his mind for that.

By that point, the boy was already clambering into the front passenger seat. Marko stepped around the car and took the seat behind him. The interior was warm and the upholstered seating, though it wasn’t anything special, was incredibly comfortable after all the strain Marko had been putting on his body, sleeping rough and then walking and running around for hours. His legs seemed to ache more when he’d taken his weight off them.

Still, it was more than a blessing to be out of the cold. The snow had already settled on the car’s windows, and when the blond man took his place in the driver’s seat, he flicked a switch to set the wipers going. Vuk slid into the seat next to Marko a moment later.

It seemed the boy was still sulking, though Marko couldn’t really get much of a look at his face from that position, even when he’d pulled his hood down. He had short, straw-coloured hair, a bit of a different shade than his father’s. It went without saying that they weren’t father and son by blood - the man was aware that the boy was an Alpha, but otherwise had no idea what it entailed. There would have been no reason for Vuk’s input, if that wasn’t so.

The four of them sat in silence, until the man had finished cleaning the water droplets off his glasses.

“M’name’s Berwald.” He began to say, once his glasses were perched back on his nose. He took the gear stick in hand and started to reverse the car around. In the rear view mirror, Marko saw him glance at his son. “This’s Peter.” There was a long pause after he said that. It was unclear whether he was waiting for someone else to say something, or just concentrating on turning the car. Once he’d started to drive straight, he did indeed speak again. “M’wife’nd I adopted him four years ago.”

Another pause. Marko muttered, thinking out loud, “Four years ago was when HQ disbanded the program.”

“You knew he was an Alpha, then?” Vuk asked, his arms folded across his chest.

Berwald nodded. “ _Yah_. Always knew.”

“ _You’re_ not an Alpha _or_ an Omega, though. What about your wife? Was she a warden?”

“ _Nuh_.”

The brunet shifted into a half-slumped posture. “That’s why your kid’s breaking shit, y’know. The program taught us all to control our strength. If his birth parents didn’t want him, he should’ve at least stayed with the others in the capital.”

Seeming troubled by that upfront response, Berwald made an abrupt, throaty noise that was somewhat dismissive.

Then, a small, croaky voice came from the passenger seat. “I don’t wanna go back to the capital.”

Marko’s insides felt a little sore, all of a sudden. He said nothing.

“W’sn’t possible.” Berwald said. As he spoke, it looked like the words were causing him pain. “Someone brought him to me. Asked me to take c’re of him. Not s’posed to say who.”

“It was my brother.” Peter said, with a clearer voice than before. Yet still, he sounded forlorn. “Well, one of my brothers, anyway.”

“You had brothers, huh?” Vuk seemed a little more interested once that fact had been revealed. Despite the fact that they functioned as family units, members of packs didn’t refer to one another as brothers; the term was reserved for biological siblings only, regardless of whether they were Alphas or Omegas. “How many?”

“Five.” Peter replied.

For their kind, that was a surprisingly high number. “ _Five_?” Vuk repeated. “Well, _shit._  What was your family name?”

“Dun think th’t’s a good id--” Berwald began to mumble out, but Peter cut him off.

“Kirkland.”

Vuk froze. Marko glanced back and forth between the two of them, and then the stone-faced Berwald, and then back at Vuk; he wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. “Kirkland? Ya sure about that?” Taking another look at the brunet, he saw that his expression had turned somewhat sour. “Eh, maybe it’s a different Kirkland?”

Berwald sighed through his nose. “ _Nuh._ Same Kirkl’nd yer thinkin’ of.”

‘Kirkland’ was the surname of the first ever Omega that had been created, many, many generations back, but since then the name had grown to mean much more than that. ‘The Kirkland Dynasty’, as it was often called, became the head of the program some decades in, and remained so until its dissolution. With the whole of Utopia’s military at their disposal, this had without doubt made them the most powerful family in the capital - at the time. That a member of their family would be sitting in that car, then and there, was beyond surprising.

“Think we’ve said too much.” Berwald mumbled, after a stunned silence that seemed to have lasted quite some time.

The revelation, it appeared, had a much bigger effect on Vuk than it had done on Marko. Judging by the fact he’d gone very quiet but looked like he wanted to spurt something - anything - out about Peter’s bloodline, he was conflicted. Marko wondered what he was thinking. Though Vuk was a rebel, it wasn’t likely he’d hate a kid who had cut his ties to the Kirklands, due to his heritage alone.

“Uh, We didn’t introduce ourselves.” Marko coughed a bit, searching for a new topic to jump to. “Name’s Marko, I’m a doctor. I was born into the program, but now I live in The North too.”

Peter lifted his head a bit. “Where do you live?”

Settlements in The North didn’t have names. Or, they _did_ have them, once, but had lost them to time. They had numbers assigned to them, as they were administrative regions of Utopia, but where the number couldn’t be applied, the alternative was to use the name of whoever was in charge in a given place. Typically, it wasn’t a convenient method, but Marko didn’t know if his village’s number would mean anything to Peter.

“Andersen’s village.”

Peter became intrigued all of a sudden, twisting his head over his shoulder to look at Marko, eyes big and alight. “ _Andersen_!? Like, like..." He frowned in confusion. “Papa, what’s Uncle Mikkel’s Papa’s name?”

“Klaus.” Was Berwald’s plain reply.

“Yeah, that’s him.” Marko said, starting to remember that Peter had said something about going to stay with his uncle when he’d been out on the track. “Was that where you were goin’, before?”

“Yeah! Uncle Mikkel is the best! He takes me out hunting - a-and sometimes he even lets me carry his woodchopping axe!”

Berwald huffed. Peter ignored him.

“ _That_ thing? _Really_?” Marko frowned a bit. “Your arms must get tired.”

“Nuh-uh! I’m really strong, y’know?” Peter grinned toothily.

“Peter, sit prop’rly.” Berwald grumbled.

It seemed like a strange turn of events, put into perspective. Marko chewed it over once Peter had sat forwards again with a bit of a pout. If Peter had made it across that rope bridge, then maybe Marko would’ve met him back in his village. But given how he’d been approaching the crossing, the chances would have been very slim, and if Marko himself hadn’t landed himself in HQ’s custody, and if the events that had followed hadn’t occurred as they had done, then if Peter had indeed made it over the bridge, he would have found his uncle’s village in tatters - torched, or worse.

At least, that’s what Marko had assumed would have happened. He thought briefly of Erzsébet; it was possible she would have come up with a plan. Maybe they could have prevented anything from happening without Marko turning himself in as a ‘rebel’. But then, Vuk wouldn’t have intervened and saved him, and then he wouldn’t have ended up following Peter to the bridge, and he wouldn’t have been able to help him.

He decided he was overthinking it, in the end. Both Peter and himself had been very lucky, and that was that.

It was hard to see with the snow pressed onto the windows, but the outlines of structures started to roll past outside. Sure enough, buildings were visible through the windshield; they were wooden structures, not unlike the ones in Marko’s village, but bigger, more robust.

Berwald stopped the car some way into the area, parking it on a raised curb. “Peter. Y’go find yer mother. Say yer sorry. Then go t’yer room.”

Peter was less than thrilled at being told that, and after unfastening his seatbelt, turned to his father to object. “But Papaaaa!!” He whined.

“Dun ‘but’ me. We’ll talk ‘bout it later. Go.”

The blond man motioned his head towards the passenger door, which Peter, with some pouting and reluctance, opened and slid out of not long after. Though the snow was still drifting outside, the strong gusts appeared to be dying down.

“How long yer plannin’ to stay?” Berwald asked, once Peter had slammed the car door shut behind himself.

Though he had been quiet for some time by then, Vuk answered that question at once, “Four nights. Why, you short on room or something?"

“ _Nuh_. Y’payin’ upfront?”

“What’s the cost?”

Berwald paused, nodding his head a little bit to himself. “C’n let y’have a double room for two hundred.”

“Are you kidding me!?”

“C’n’t go any lower.”

Marko interjected, speaking to Berwald, “I’m not sharin’ a room with him, by the way.”

“Two single rooms. One-eighty.” Berwald straightened his back. “Just dun tell m’wife.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Vuk waved his hand a bit. “One-eighty including dinner, right?”

Another pause from Berwald. “Two hundred for th’beds an’ all meals.”

“Done.”

Without missing a beat, Vuk dove his hand into his satchel. From it, he took a wad of crumpled _ducat_  bank notes; a finger’s width in thickness. They were all notes of ten from what Marko could see, so he estimated that there was at least four hundred in the pile. He wondered if it was Vuk’s own money, or from a rebel stash. Most of them still worked jobs for pay in the capital, but if their objectives required extra funding, it was safe to assume they weren’t above stealing.

Taking that into consideration, Vuk could well have not been willing to pay at all. But then, Berwald didn’t seem like the sort of person that it was a good idea to try and cheat. He was acting nice enough towards them but there was an aura of intimidation about him, carried in his thick, grumbled speech and void expressions. On the other hand, being intimidated by a human was unbecoming of an Alpha, so Marko doubted it was for that reason.

Sure enough, half of the money was forked across to the driver’s seat. Berwald gave it a quick flick through, double-checking the amount, before he slipped it into his coat pocket.

After leaving the car and stepping out into the cold again, it was a short walk, following Berwald’s lead, up a short flight of steps and towards the hefty front doors of the inn.

The blond man didn’t look back as he headed inside; when he had disappeared from view, Vuk leant close to Marko, and murmured just loud enough for him to hear, “Remember why you’re here. You’re more or less a wanted man. Try to keep a low profile. It’s bad enough the kid and his Dad already know what we are.”

“Why’s that a problem?” Marko cocked an eyebrow. “The kid’s the same as you. If anythin’, they’ll be sympathetic.”

Vuk looked incredulous for a moment, then shook his head slowly. “Yeah, well just ‘cause _they_ might be, doesn’t mean others’ll be the same.” His voice was stern, and he eyed Marko with caution. “Or, d’ya only take those suppressants for convenience?” With that, he reached for the handle of the door.

“I don’t think that’s somethin’ we should be talkin’ about in the open.” Marko said, quiet yet firm about it.

The Alpha didn't respond, which implied that he agreed. He swung the door open - causing the little bell above it to chime - and stepped inside, not holding it for Marko, who had to catch it with his elbow before it shut again. Swearing beneath his breath, he glowered at the back of Vuk’s head whilst following after him.

The interior of the inn was pleasant enough, though it looked more like someone’s house than it did a business, with occasional clutter in the form of coffee cups, newspapers and magazines strewn about on the table next to the doorway; there was also a pair of thin, bare-footed legs laid across said cluttered table, the owner of which was seated upon a pile of cushions and holding a large, open newspaper over the view of their face. Next to them, there was a lit fireplace, crackling away, which made the room very warm, in spite of the fact the floor and inside walls were made of rough, dark stone.

“ _Ey_! Guests, _yah_?” A voice that was too high-pitched and coherent to be Berwald’s came from behind the front desk - which appeared to be empty, until a pale blond man with a rotund face popped his head over the top of the surface. “Sorry about the mess!” He said, rising up to his full height and flicking a sheepish look back and forth between the two of them. “We don’t usually get anyone passing through town this time of year. In fact, we’re fully vacant right now!” The man laughed, but it was an awkward one.

“Yeah, yeah.” Vuk spoke up before he could say anything else. “I paid the big guy in advance. What time’s dinner?”

The man spluttered a bit, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “A-Any time you want! I can go put something on now.” He leaned over the desk then, and spoke to the person sat behind the newspaper. “Lars! Can you show the guests upstairs?”

A mop of red hair and a pair of narrowed eyes appeared above the newspaper as it lowered. The person behind it was a young man, perhaps a few years older than Peter, whose face betrayed his long legs in giving away his age, though it did resemble Berwald’s in its structure. “ _Nuh_.” He said, plainly, before hiding behind the paper again.

The blond man’s eye twitched a little, and the smile on his face became strained. “Lars, that’s rude. Come on, now.”

“Just give us the damned keys and we’ll go ourselves.” Vuk interjected.

After drawing in a deep breath and sighing, the man ducked down again, reappearing after a short while with two keys, which he slid across the top of the desk. “Upstairs is that way. These two rooms are at the end of the hall, opposite one another.” He lifted his hand to the opposite end of the room. “I’m very sorry. We’re not usually this lacking in hospitality! We--” He paused mid-sentence, when Vuk took the keys in hand and began to head around in the direction he’d pointed out.

Marko shrugged the blanket on his shoulders off, sure that the building was warm enough for him to do so. He glanced at the blond man as he stepped forwards, intending to follow Vuk again; he almost said ‘sorry’, as well, but stopped himself. Why should _he_ have to be the one to apologise for the other’s actions? “Thanks.” He muttered, instead, before pursuing the Alpha.

The staircase leading upstairs was only narrow enough for a single file, but Vuk managed to turn around halfway up, when he realised Marko was behind him. “Here.” He threw one of the keys down to him. “Go take a bath or something.”

Once Vuk had started heading up again, Marko snorted a bit. “What’re you plannin’ to do, then? Eat everythin’ this place has and then knock yourself out for three days?”

“Yeah. More or less.” Vuk grunted; he didn’t seem to like the mocking tone Marko had used. “You got a problem with that?”

“Not exactly. Just wonderin’ what I’m s’posed to do in that time.”

When they had both reached the landing, Vuk faced him again, brow knitted. “Hell if I know. Whatever you wanna do, so long as it doesn’t involve leaving the town or telling everyone you come across who you are.”

Another snort, albeit an inadvertent one. The instructions were sensible, sure, but that wasn’t the irritating thing. Marko matched the frown on Vuk’s face. “Stop talkin’ to me like I’m your subordinate. This isn’t the program, y’know.”

Though his expression didn’t falter, Vuk was still for a moment; he stared straight into Marko’s eyes, and didn’t break the gaze when he strode towards him, closing the gap between them. Though shorter than Marko, the difference wasn’t much when he had his back upright and chin raised. His amber eyes were glassy and intense; he spoke through clenched teeth, tone low and husky, “Listen here, cumslut. I was the one that dragged your ass outta that mess you were in. You owe it to me to be a _good fucking Omega_ and do what I tell you to do. You got that?”

Marko couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so close to his face. An eye exam, perhaps. He didn’t have it in him to find it uncomfortable, though; rather, he was remembering the pain in his jaw again, and along with what Vuk was saying - and the name he’d called him - it was making his blood start to boil. “Piss off. I told ya before, I didn’t ask for you to save me.” He pushed past Vuk roughly, bumping into his shoulder.

He headed down the carpeted hallway, intent on unlocking the door to his room and, upon entry, locking it shut behind himself. Vuk’s footsteps didn’t come after his own, not at first - but once he’d reached the door, he heard the man’s voice cut through the silence again, “Oi, idiot.”

Glancing back towards him, he watched Vuk approach, hand back in the satchel at his waist. He lifted out the wad of cash again, and then presented Marko with the top three notes. Unsure of why he was giving him the money all of a sudden after the angry outburst just then, Marko became perplexed.

Picking up on this, Vuk spoke again, his tone still harsh and rasping, but with less attempt to be intimidating, “I forgot to mention: before you get cleaned up, I dunno if you noticed, but neither of us have a change of clothes.” He pushed the money further forwards. “There’s probably somewhere in town you can get ‘em. Ask the guy on the desk, or something.”

It was a little hard for Marko to believe the request, after the exchange they’d just had. “What part of ‘I’m not your subordinate’ is so hard to understand!?”

“I dunno, maybe the part where you’d be stupid not to do what I’m asking.” Vuk replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

As much as Marko hated to admit it, he was right. He freed his hand by stuffing the key into the lock of the door and twisting until it was open. Then, he snatched the money off the other, giving him a hard stare and holding it for a moment whilst he gave the doorknob a firm turn. He tossed the blanket and package he’d been carrying all that way onto a chair inside, not bothering to look at the rest of the room; once he’d cast his belongings off, he closed and locked the door again, stuffing the money into the pocket of his pants.

There was a glint in Vuk’s eyes that Marko saw as he passed him again - he looked triumphant, almost. A look that said, ‘I’ve made you listen to me, you don’t have a choice but to listen to me’. The look served to do nothing but fuel his aggravation even more.

 

* * *

 

 

According to the man on the front desk, there was a small clothing shop just down the street from the inn. The blond had done his uneasy chuckle again and said that the shop’s stock was more practical than at all stylish. And indeed he had been right. Marko found the shop at the end of the street, and a quick glance around revealed it was mostly drab-looking coats and hiking gear. He didn’t care, and he didn’t expect Vuk cared, either. He got as much as the thirty would stretch for him, which - in spite of the fact that they made up a good chunk of the store - included everything except hats and shoes. The whole horde was bundled by the clerk (who appeared to find Marko’s presence uncanny; understandable, since he’d already been told people didn’t pass through the town at that time of year) into three bags.

Though Marko had half a mind to return to the inn straight away and hurl the contents of the bags straight at Vuk’s face, he decided he was still just _too_ vexed with him. He decided to take a walk around town instead, hoping it would help him blow off steam.

He understood why Vuk was acting like he was, and that was why he’d kept as much patience as he could with him. He’d confirmed it, when they’d been speaking on the steps before reaching their rooms, but Marko already knew from his previous actions. Once a month, Alphas entered a phase called a ‘rut’, and it had arguably been one of the most vital parts of the program. The rut was when an Alpha’s senses were heightened, their hormones and adrenaline levels off the charts. They were honed to be able to increase their strength and speed to phenomenal levels during this time, and it was for this reason that HQ had used them as their front line soldiers. The rut would be between four days and a week in length, and at the very end, an Alpha’s energy level would crash, leaving them tired and irritable. They would eat as much food as they could, and then sleep for at least two days, to recharge.

With the many hundreds of Alphas at their disposal, the few days of the month that the rut lasted was enough; it sounded inconvenient on paper, but the strongest of the Alphas could flatten enemy lines in a matter of minutes. They were supersoldiers, and each generation was a step above the former - stronger, faster, more enduring.

_They can never be what we are. They’re not human. They’re imperfect._

HQ had chosen to close the program, replacing the Alphas with automata. Their reasoning, incomprehensible to many, was that Alphas retained two very distinct human traits. No matter how strong they or their offspring were, they still possessed the ability to think and act for themselves. A few particular instances where Alphas had refused orders from their superiors had cast doubt on HQ’s ability to have complete control of their forces. Soldiers fought for a reason, and when HQ’s conquests lacked reason in the eyes of Alphas, they were prone to being defiant.

On the battlefield, a defiant Alpha was as good to the program as a slain Alpha. But, taking one out when he was at his greatest strength was no easy feat. And so, each of them, prior to stepping beyond the walls of the program’s building, would be fitted with a small bomb. The corresponding detonation device would belong to either the Alpha’s warden or a higher commander, but always someone on the same field willing to make the possible split-second judgment an Alpha’s life would come down to. The blast would be powerful enough to blow the host to pieces, but not enough to cause collateral damage, other than the inevitable smears of blood and bones and innards.

Which displayed the other flaw of an Alpha’s humanity: that like any other person, they were _just that_. Mortal. As easily killed by a stray bullet through the skull or a blade through a vital artery as any regular human.

It was cruel. But until the end of the program, it was all many of the Alphas - and Omegas - had ever known. Perhaps that made it all the more remarkable that together they, upon becoming free, turned against HQ. The rebel force, though it had been present for many years before, gained substantial numbers upon the program’s closure. Marko was aware he was one of a small minority of his kind that hadn’t aligned with the rebels. Erzsébet was his sole connection to them.

Leaving Utopia behind and moving to the isolation that The North had to offer hadn’t been a difficult choice to make. The emptiness, the quiet, the endless expanses of snow - in some ways, The North resembled the program’s building, and its hollow rooms of sterile white. Whether Marko found comfort in this or not, he didn’t know, but he mused on it whilst stepping through the town, footsteps crunching. To ease both the bitter cold and the weight of the bags he was carrying, he had thrown on one of the large coats he’d bought. It was easier to walk outside now that the blizzard had calmed down, to the point where the flakes were so far and few between they looked ready to stop; yet, it was still chilly enough for him to be able to see his breath in front of his face.

The town looked beautiful, the crests of each pitched roof topped with thick snow. The land was much flatter than in his own village, and nothing but the forest seemed to be beyond the town’s borders. He guessed that the first few homes had been built in a clearing, and from there had expanded; there were several streets, all aligned in neat lanes, wide enough for vehicles to pass through. A short walk further on proved that there was one main street running through the middle of town, and where the buildings ended, the road continued to cut onwards through the trees. He passed a few people on his way, but the town was, for the most part, serene, to the point where it was almost desolate.

That was exactly he liked about The North. The peace. He was sure that he would have gone there after the end of the program, regardless of his circumstances. He just wished he hadn’t had to go there alone.

His heart felt sore. Wandering around aimlessly like that often did make him dwell on things; make him recall things that he hoped he might be able to forget, but knew he never would. The spat with Vuk hadn’t helped, either. Whether it was due to the suppressants, or for a different reason, Marko felt like - somehow - he hadn’t managed to completely acknowledge that Vuk was an Alpha. Was it because he’d been apart from the others for so long?

The last Alpha Marko had really had much to do with was his own. For a small window of time in his life,  _he_ was the only person he saw every day. It was easy, when he was alone with his own thoughts, to remember that time - and the gentle voice that had weaved itself amongst the memories.

*

Set 131 was divided on the day the youngest turned eighteen. The division, no matter the set, was always less trouble for some Omegas than others. There would be some that would only need to wait a couple of days to be paired, some would need to spend weeks alone before it would happen.

Marko, still going by his birth name of Samuil at the time, waited precisely four days, six hours and thirty-two minutes.

He’d kept track, using the clock on his wall. The isolated ‘homes’ the Omegas occupied after the division allowed for simple distractions like that. Unlike the dorms where the packs stayed, the small apartments had a TV and a kitchenette, as well as a separate bedroom and bathroom from the main living area. He, like all the other Omegas in his set, were expected to stay there, and there alone, for as long as the program deemed fit.

By day three, Samuil thought he might go crazy. There was one TV channel - HQ’s own daily, repetitive news and information broadcast. He could only stand half an hour of 'The Life and Pastimes of the King's Mother' (and her 'valiant' efforts in preserving Utopia's culture and history prior to her tragic death), before he decided he’d rather read the books he’d been provided with instead. Sure, they were full of Utopian propaganda too, but it was a damned sight more interesting.

Eat, sleep, read. That was his routine. And then, when he’d woken early on the fourth day, he caved.

Omegas, like Alphas had ruts, went through a cycle. Unlike ruts, theirs had no increased effect on their strength, speed, or anything else along those lines, and therefore they could not function as weapons. In fact, ‘functioning’ was the last thing an Omega usually was, at the time. Three times a year, or once every four months, an Omega went into heat, making them fertile. During this period, they would mate with an Alpha, and be host to the next generation of their kind.

Though heats were normally a very uncomfortable, undesirable experience, Samuil was somewhat grateful he knew his was very, very close; he just wasn’t sure he could spend another day all alone and bored to death.

“Hey, Erzsébet?” He said, the headset of the apartment’s phone to his ear - there were only a few numbers that could be called from it, and one was his warden’s. “I uh. I think I’m ready.”

An hour and a half later, there was a knock at the apartment door.

Samuil had spent the entire time sat at the kitchenette table. _So, this is it_ , he thought to himself, over and over, repeating in his mind like the woman on HQ’s news programme repeated the same stories. He and the other Omegas were allowed to briefly encounter the Alphas of 131 before, but remembering them was a different story. Even if they’d been living under the same roof all their lives, whoever he’d been paired with was going to be more or less a complete stranger.

He inhaled a deep breath and strode towards the door, flicking the switch next to the frame to slide it open. Electronic locks were used throughout Utopia, and the doors to the apartments, like the pack dorms, were opened from the outside using card keys. Yet even if the Alpha had one in his possession already, Samuil guessed he had been advised against barging straight inside.

His eyes, still a little sleep-filled from earlier, met with a pair of green ones. That was the first thing he took note of, before the heady, earthy scent began to hit him - _hell_ , there was no mistaking what _that_ was; he tried his best to ignore it, just so he could focus on the man’s face. The Alpha appeared to have been the same age he was, with a chiseled jaw and locks of brown hair that formed a slight curl, falling in front of his eyes and defined cheekbones. He stood a little shorter than Samuil, and was much more muscular across the upper body area - something that was visible in the generic cotton shirts that they were required to wear around the building (each had their assigned number on their sleeve). But, after his eyes and his scent, the most striking thing about him was the bit gag fixed in his jaw. Samuil felt a pang of dread; those gags were a punishment, placed on Alphas that had bitten either their warden, another Alpha, or - worse - a commanding official. It didn’t matter if they were provoked or not, the gag was there to ‘stop them from doing it again’. Or rather, to point out that ‘this Alpha is dangerous, approach him with care’.

So, for a moment, Samuil had to wonder just what the hell he was in for.

“131-181115, Samuil Iliya, correct?”

He had been so transfixed by the sight of the Alpha that he hadn’t even noticed the uniformed woman at his side - the Alpha’s warden, he presumed. He managed to tear his gaze away to look at her, instead.

“Y-Yes?”

“This is 131-181272.” Her shrewd voice continued. “He answers to Heracles Karpusi.” She extended a small device to Samuil. Not beating around the bush, she added, “The restraint can be removed and replaced at your discretion. If you experience any issue with this, contact your warden.”

That was all she said before taking her leave. After staring puzzled at what he’d been handed for a moment, Samuil eyed the woman as she disappeared down the hallway. Then, he sucked in a breath and looked towards the Alpha again. So he’d been paired with a notorious biter? He couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed - and wary - that he might have to risk injury to have a conversation with the man.

“Uh, come in.” He stepped backwards to allow the Alpha to pass over the threshold. He tapped on the door’s switch to close it again behind him, and then forced a smile, so as not to appear too dejected.

Heracles stared at him, blankly. Samuil eyed the device again, and, somewhat at a loss for what to do or say next anyway, clicked the switch. There was a soft snapping sound, and the man looked relieved, lifting his hands to pull the gag out of his mouth.

“Thank you.” His voice was husky and mellow. Now that there was no obstruction in his jaw, Samuil did have to admit, the man had a nice face.

“Just, er. Just don’t bite me, yeah?” It was a bit of an awkward thing to say. Samuil glanced away from him again, before he began to shuffle across the room. “Make yourself comfortable. There’s food in the fridge.” Starting to mumble, he added, partly talking to himself, which he’d managed to pick up a habit of doing whilst he’d been alone in that apartment, “Books on the bookshelf. Stuff on TV.”

Taking slow, steady steps, Heracles went towards the kitchen table, slumping into a seat there. Samuil turned to face him a little further away, leaning against the back of the couch, watching the other place down the gag before folding his hands on the surface in front of him.

The first meeting was always going to be uncomfortable. What lay ahead of them was going to be the so-called ‘elephant in the room’, but sooner or later, one of them would have to bring it up. The Alpha must have been thinking just that.

“How close are you?” He asked. Though his voice was somewhat quiet, he still sounded like he wanted to get to the point; get the question asked and out of the way.

Samuil decided not to admit he’d twisted the truth a bit to save himself from spending any more time bored and alone. “Four days, I think.” Four days would mark four months exactly from his last heat, but if it _was_ going to be due on that day, he would start to feel its effects the next morning. He didn’t make eye contact with the other when he answered, a little abashed by the topic; he added when the room went silent again, rubbing at the back of his neck, “Yeah. It’s pretty boring in here, so there’s not much while we wait either. Sorry.”

Heracles nodded, slowly yet firmly. “Perhaps then, you could tell me about yourself.”

*

Four days were never going to be enough time to fall in love with someone.

Love and intimacy, were, and were always going to be, irrelevant. It didn’t matter if Samuil hated Heracles, it didn’t matter if they both hated each other - all that mattered to HQ was that they contributed to the next generation of Alphas and Omegas. Therefore, the whole thing could well have been hell. Samuil could have been trapped, and miserable for it.

So, it was a good thing that four days _was_ enough time for Samuil to decide that Heracles wasn’t at all a bad guy. He didn’t know if it was because there was very little to do in their now shared home or not, but the Alpha seemed rather lazy; everything he did, whether he was moving or talking or anything else, seemed to take him twice as long as it should have. Under normal circumstances, Samuil might’ve found this bothersome, but in that case, he found it kind of endearing. There wasn’t much he could fault him on, he was soft-spoken and seemed engaged whenever Samuil spoke to him. He became fond of the Alpha quite quickly, to the point where for a brief time he forgot about the gag and the threat of him ever getting bitten.

He was lucky, he thought. _Really_ _lucky_. From what Heracles had told him, he wouldn’t enter his rut for another few days, so he still didn’t know how he’d act then - and that was Samuil’s only concern. There were many Alphas that went out of their way to dominate their Omega, emotionally as well as physically; horror stories had circulated the pack dorms several times (“ _Yeah, yeah, okay, Mihai, we know about the guy who nearly got his dick chomped off, we don’t need to hear it again”)_. Would he snap, then, and become an entirely different person? He kept a mental note of where the gag had been stowed, just in case. Perhaps everything would be fine, though; perhaps one day, he’d be able to trust him completely.

On the third day of the four, Samuil woke up in a hot flash.

The discomfort was, as always, instant. And it didn’t help that he wasn’t alone, either. Being around other Omegas when in heat wasn’t much of an issue, but he didn’t know what to expect from an Alpha reacting to the increased scent he’d be giving off. When he had roused a little more and sat up, pushing away the duvet, he peered down at Heracles in the dark. With only one bed in the apartment, they hadn’t had a choice but to share from day one, and Samuil wasn’t prepared to take the couch, nor did he think it fair to make the Alpha do so, either. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel much like bunking with a stranger, though. Samuil kept to one side, Heracles to the other, back to back with some space between them.

After the first two nights, he didn’t even mind that the scent of the Alpha was spread across the bedclothes - warm and deep and woody. On the morning of the third, the air became thick with it, to the point where he had to shorten his breath, because a full inhalation might have driven him mad.

Carefully, he pressed a sweaty palm to Heracles’s muscular shoulder - _oh hell_ , he didn’t want to touch him, but he had to - and shook him awake. Samuil’s heart rate was rising. He needed the Alpha to get up and leave before he kicked him out of bed himself - literally.

“S-Sorry… I… I need ya to go.” He spluttered out against the silence of the room, when Heracles rolled over and peered up at him, eyes still half-lidded though they glinted in what little light fell into the room from the small, frost-glassed window on the far wall.

“Go?” Came the drawled reply.

“Yeah.” Samuil breathed out. A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead and cheek. Out of habit, and not caring about the other’s presence, he lifted the hem of his shirt and peeled up and over his head, grateful of the cool air on his bare skin, for the few moments it lasted.

The Alpha took his time complying. He seemed like he wanted to just roll back over and sleep some more. Samuil, in the meantime, shuffled out of bed and out into the main living area, careful of his steps in the dark. He made for the kitchenette, grabbing a glass of water to cool himself down. There was still a short time before the heat would get worse; he considered having a cold shower to take the edge off, whilst he still had a chance.

After deciding that was a good idea and acting upon it, he found Heracles had moved to the couch in the meantime. He did seem like the sort of person who could sleep anywhere, but Samuil still did feel a little bad for having needed him out. He must have understood it was a necessity, though. Stepping across the room, he peered over the back of the couch, eyes squinting in the dark. He could just make out the Alpha’s slumbering body and his soft breathing.

Once he’d shut the door to the bedroom behind him, Samuil lay atop the bedsheets, hair and body still a little damp from the shower. He remained there for the rest of the day.

The more hours that passed, the worse the heat became.

He left only to get more water, or to use the bathroom; he took care each time, more cautious of the fact his legs were starting to feel weaker and weaker. Heracles remained on the couch, passed out; whether he had even moved at all since Samuil had asked him to leave their bed was debatable. Samuil kind of wished he had the same ability to sleep like a log. It would have been preferable to lying around in an uncomfortable, sweaty mess, wide awake because the heat made it so damned difficult to even sleep for a little while. It didn’t help that the bedclothes were starting to become more of an issue, too; they still carried the Alpha’s scent, and that was without them starting to scratch at his skin as it grew more sensitive. He’d lived through the rest many times before since reaching the age of maturity for an Omega, but having the lingering scent of an Alpha around at the time? That was new. And it was both a blessing and a curse - it was confirmation that once the hardest part of the heat set in, he would soon after be able to get relief from it, something that had been almost impossible before, but the fact that the scent lingered around whilst he was suffering getting to that part? It was like he was being teased; he inhaled deep breaths in the Alpha’s pillow, practically out of instinct, but he never found any kind of relief in the scent alone.

There was a brief knock at the bedroom door the next day. Samuil roused, wriggling atop the sheets, grimacing a bit with the discomfort it brought. He felt like the fabric was burning into his skin.

“Y-Yeah?” He croaked out.

A long pause preceded Heracles’s voice, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

 _Yeah, stay on that side of the Goddamned door_ , Samuil thought. “No. Nothin’.”

There was a light tapping on the floor outside, signalling that Heracles had moved away from the door again. Samuil suspected that Alphas were told not to be persistent around this time, but whether or not all of them listened to that advice was a different matter. It wasn’t like HQ would have cared either way. They provided a pleasant living space and would act if there was any kind of danger that the Alpha were to present, but other than those basics, they had more important things to deal with than an Omega’s wellbeing.

When the third day of the heat struck, Samuil was beyond being able to think about anything with a clear mind.

 _Open the door. Open the damned door._ That was his first thought. Whether it was because of Heracles’s scent or just down to the fact that Samuil knew he was there was irrelevant. If he didn’t act, if he didn’t open the door, he would have to face the pain in his lower body getting worse, as it always would at the peak. _You can stop it now, before it gets to that point_. The moment he’d stumbled across the room and pulled on the handle and cracked it open, his legs gave way.

He sensed movement, but everything had started to become a little blurred. The scent of the Alpha hit him like a ton of bricks, and that was the only real warning he got before there were arms around him; warm, strong arms, lifting him up and away from the hard floor.

“H-Hera--” The rest of the name wouldn’t come, he choked before it could leave his mouth. Instead he pressed his nose against the man’s neck, embracing his shoulders and fisting his hands in the back of his shirt. _That scent._ He breathed it in deep from the tangles of his hair. It sent shivers down his spine, and a flush of heat across his face.

Heracles said nothing. He was silent for some time, even after he’d dropped Samuil back onto the bedclothes and clambered atop him, leaving the door wide open and letting the light from the room beyond break across the darkness. It fell across the bed and straight onto the Alpha’s back; to Samuil, in his hazy state, he appeared as a pale-lined silhouette.

He leant down, the mattress creaking under the shifting of weight. Their mouths met, lips parted and sopping; their noses bumped, a faint reminder to Samuil that he’d never done anything like this before. In fact, he hadn’t stopped to even think for one moment that Heracles was probably in the same boat as he was. A higher batch number meant that he was the younger of the two of them - he was _nineteen_ , in fact; he had shared that information with Samuil on day one. He was a whole year and five months younger.

Yet, there came a point where inexperience was no longer much of an obstacle, and instinct took over. For someone who it could be assumed didn’t know what he was doing, Heracles at least was acting like he did. He lifted Samuil’s hips, pressing his naked body up into the clothed one above. It was rough against his skin, making him flinch and dig his nails into the Alpha’s shoulderblades.

A couple of broad fingers found their way inside Samuil; they barely grazed against his ass before they slid in without much difficulty. In fact, that he could feel them at all was a surprise. The objects he used on himself during previous heats had never entered with ease like that. Was he more aroused from the scent? That was kind of embarrassing.

“S-S’okay.” Samuil muttered, when Heracles had taken his fingers back out. He got the impression he was hesitating, but it was hard to tell. Whether it was to reassure the Alpha, or himself, he added, “I’m ready.”

There was a soft shuffling sound. It became obvious soon enough that Heracles had lowered the waistline of his pants. He aligned himself with Samuil’s entrance and, in a gentle motion, pushed inside. As slow and as careful as he was being, though, Samuil regretted his words at once. The intrusion was so much bigger than two fingers or anything else he’d used to get himself off with before. He gasped aloud, face curdling.

Though, the soreness soon disappeared, as well as the aching cramps in his lower stomach. Heracles began to move, in and out and at a good enough pace for it to not cause any more discomfort for Samuil. The Alpha was grunting, low and throaty, with each thrust, his hands gripped around the back of Samuil’s hips. Did he like it? Without them exchanging any kind of words or signals, it was hard to tell.

Samuil wasn’t in a position to put the Alpha’s needs above his own, though. He wriggled down ever so slightly, so that Heracles’s thrusts were angled a little differently and each rubbed against his prostate, and coiled his legs around the other to lock them both in that position. That was it. That was better. He chewed on his lower lip, trying to swallow down a cry of pleasure; instead it mewled its way out in a somewhat pathetic manner. He wished he had it in him to chide himself for it.

One hand left the Alpha’s back and slid down between their stomachs. Samuil began to rub his own cock in time with the thrusts; he had always done so when taking care of his heat himself. Being taken up the ass was always only going to take the edge off the pain and the urges that the heat brought, he wouldn’t be able to actually _come_ without jerking off. Some Omegas could, but to his misfortune he wasn’t one of them.

He came in stripes, hard and fast, between their chests, but mostly into his own hand, which he let drop afterwards. A long, exhaled “Haaahh” left his mouth and he laid his head back, eyeing the shadowed face above him.

Heracles stopped a few thrusts later, breathing deep through his nose, and there was a sharp pain around Samuil’s rim. He clenched his teeth, wondering why he hadn’t braced himself for _that_ beforehand. So _that_ was what it felt like. And even that pain lifted after he’d taken a couple of moments to adjust to it. Dropping his legs, he felt Heracles loosen his hands as well, though he still kept them in place, propping Samuil’s hips up against his own.

They remained like that for a while. Alleviated, all of the pain and discomfort he’d been experiencing for the past few days suddenly gone like he’d clicked a switch, all Samuil wanted to do was rest. And the moment Heracles was able to pull out, he planned to.

He found that he didn’t even have much energy for words. His clean hand, though it was still sweaty, lifted towards the dark, fuzzy image his eyes were perceiving of the Alpha’s face. Pressing the palm to his cheek, his fingers toyed a little with the ends of his tousled hair. It was his unspoken ‘thank you’.

*

Alphas that were going through their rut were allowed out of their homes, to visit a specific place in the program’s building. The intention of that place was for them to expend excess energy. The hope was in doing so it would release the bottled-up pressure from the rut that HQ would harness in their on-duty soldiers. It allowed them to scrap with other rutting Alphas in a controlled environment, so that they were less inclined to do so when around their Omegas or not under observation elsewhere.

Samuil still hadn’t asked about Heracles’s gag by the time his rut had begun, but it was simple enough to assume that he’d bitten someone under the influence of that phase.

Remarkably, he seemed not all that different. He was quieter, if that was possible, and did keep his distance, whereas in the days following their sex, he’d been happy to sleep close to Samuil, arms around him, accepting of brief pecks on the forehead or cheek. The closest they got was on the second day of the rut, in fact; Samuil had offered to perform fellatio on him. He didn’t know if it had helped out much, ruts and heat weren’t too alike in that regard.

The only real difference that struck Samuil was the change in his scent - the earthy note was sourer, and lingered around the whole apartment more. And they had yet to ‘bond’, so it wasn’t because Samuil’s own scent had affected it; even if it had, he wouldn’t be able to tell.

The controlled environment was where Heracles _said_ he was going each time he left, anyway. There was no reason for him to lie to Samuil about it, why would he? Where else could he go with the hallways always under close surveillance?

Samuil _thought_ that, until there was a knock at the door. The same knock - three, concise and firm - that had occurred in the moments before he’d met the Alpha. _Odd_ , he’d mused to himself, because Heracles had a keycard and let himself back upon his return each time. He assumed someone wanted _him_ , then.

“Samuil Iliya, 131-181115.” The same warden was at the door, and there was Heracles at her side, disheveled and, once again, gagged. She frowned and reached up, flicking the back of the gag, opening it manually without the use of a device, inferring it was a temporary one. “Do not allow him to leave without the restraint again.” The woman pulled the gag out from the Alpha’s teeth and, like she had done the last time Samuil had seen her, she then turned and left, shoes clinking and echoing against the solid floor.

Heracles passed Samuil without making eye contact. Samuil shut the door, inhaling a deep breath.

“What did ya do?” He asked, with a certain vigilance.

“Provoked.” Was the one word answer, half-grumbled. The grating sound of a chair at the kitchenette table being pulled out followed.

Samuil rolled his eyes a little, whilst his back was still to the Alpha. “Right.”

“Samuil.” Heracles said, very firmly, then. He lifted both the tone of his voice and the volume, something that seemed a rarity. “Sit down.”

It took a moment for Samuil to process the order. Heracles had never told him what to do before. He dreaded the idea he’d become a domineering Alpha due to his rut. He complied regardless, stepping towards the seat opposite Heracles’s.

The Alpha drew in a sharp breath. “Next month, I will be going back to the front line.”

“Wh-What?” Samuil’s heart dropped, his mouth going dry. “Nah, there’s some mistake, right? They wouldn’t let ya go unless--” Unless they, together, had served their purpose. HQ wouldn’t break that rule without good reason.

Heracles folded his hands on the table. “After today, they deemed me too dangerous to remain here.” His eyes were downcast, shaded by his hair. “I… Was provoked. They understand this, but I acted irrationally nonetheless. So, I will go to The South, and join the current conflict there.”

HQ had been advancing through The South for a long time. It was such a vast and difficult area to get ahold of, it was hoped that Set 131 would be the Alpha that would finally gain them the control.

“Just for the one month?” Samuil asked, shifting a bit in his seat.

“I don’t know.” After a few moments of quiet passed, Heracles lifted his gaze. “But, they will let you leave here.”

“Ya think?” Samuil cocked an eyebrow. He was still sure at that point he could only leave at the discretion of his warden, or someone higher ranked. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Heracles, but he didn’t see why they would let _Samuil_ go without him fulfilling his purpose.

Well, perhaps he had, already - but at that point, it was too early to tell.

“Samuil.” The Alpha spoke with a very clear, upfront tone again. “They’ll let you go if we’re bonded.”

“ _Oh._ ” Feeling his face heat up a bit, Samuil rubbed at the back of his neck. “S’a lil’ bit early, though.” Bonding didn’t usually happen until two, perhaps three months into a pair. He had to wonder if they might’ve broken a record, bonding after a week. But typically it was necessary; Samuil would carry Heracles’s scent from then on, deterring the instincts of other Alphas, though it would fade over time and would have to be done again the following year.

There was the prospect of meeting with some of his fellow Omegas, though. He doubted any from his pack were free themselves, maybe not even his set, but it would have been some company, at least. Heck, he could even fraternise with some of the Alphas without it being a problem. Not just that, he could probably get back to doing some actual work instead of being stuck around in the apartment, bored out of his mind. Samuil’s pack were medics and he had worked on the field before in The South; no way would he be allowed to go back at that time, though, but fixing up minor injuries sustained in the program building still seemed preferable.

“I understand that.” Heracles said, breaking his train of thought. “It’s up to you.”

Samuil mulled it over a little longer. Then, his lips widened into a teasing smile. “If you’re up for bitin’ anyone else after _that_ , I guess.”

*

On the day Heracles was due to leave for The South, Samuil had called for Erzsébet.

The Alpha had left the apartment the night before, gag back in place. He was to sleep in the barracks that night, so that he was ready to prepare for departure.

One month was never going to be enough time to fall in love with someone.

“I need ya to take me to the infirmary.” Samuil said down the phone receiver, through teeth that were clenched. There was a pain, not unlike the one he experienced in heat, in the depths of his stomach. He didn’t manage to sleep that night, not because Heracles wasn’t present, but because he’d been nauseous for hours on end, only starting to vomit (which did, thankfully, make him feel a little less like crap afterwards) once dawn had broken.

Erzsébet arrived on the dot ten minutes later.

“I’m happy for you.” She said, hair bouncing as she walked with him through the cool, empty hallways. There was a slight smile on her face. “Actually, you’re the first of my pack to show any symptoms of pregnancy, so I’m doubly-happy. If that makes sense.”

Samuil decided it was better not to tell her he might have been ill for different reasons. Anxiety, maybe. He suspected Erzsébet didn’t even know he’d bonded. She might not even have known who his assigned Alpha was. The fact that he’d called for her to walk with him to the infirmary probably implied to her that he hadn’t. HQ’s higher ups knew he was bonded; Heracles had contacted them and from there they’d done as he said they would, granting Samuil permission to leave the apartment and traverse the building alone. He’d called for Erzsébet to escort him, though, just in case he keeled over whilst making his way to the infirmary.

“The first, huh.” He muttered. “So, uh, y’know anythin’ about how the others are doin’?”

“Mmn, not much. It’s still early days, though.”

That was right: for Samuil, everything had gone a lot faster than expected. He cleared his throat. “Not much? Not even that they’re settled in okay?”

She laughed a little. “Well, I haven’t had any calls from them asking me to get them out just yet, so I don’t think anyone’s having any problems.” She paused. “What about you? Is everything alright with you? I mean, it must be, right?”

He decided to lie. In fact, it wasn’t a lie, it just wasn’t the whole truth. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m really happy, actually.” He forced a smile.

With that, she left him at the infirmary, bidding a bright goodbye before she was gone. Perhaps his answer had cheered her. He did feel a little guilty, not filling her in on the details.

“131-181115.” The doctor he consulted was an older Omega; Samuil couldn’t even guess at what set he was from. He tugged the collar of Samuil’s shirt to one side, examining the bond-bite on his skin. It was a few weeks old by now, the initial wounding almost healed. That he knew to look at that specific part of his neck indicated that the bonding had worked; in both Alphas and Omegas, there was a gland there that released pheromones upon the skin being pierced. Samuil had done the same to Heracles, though, he had joked about him not being quite as experienced with biting. Heracles hadn’t appreciated it. “The bond-bite is not infected.” He stated, and scribbled this information down on his clipboard.

 _I could have told you that myself,_ Samuil thought. That wasn’t why he’d been lying in the doctor’s chair with his arm hooked up to a machine for the past fifteen minutes. The machine tested an Omega’s blood and pumped out all sorts of information that HQ considered vital. It would calculate a time and date for the new child, were it present, to be removed from its host Omega, and the likelihood of any defects. It would log these with an automatic code, which it would base upon its given date and time of birth; HQ would translate this code into a batch number much later on.

Samuil didn’t really care about numbers and codes. He just wanted a yes or a no. If he could get it quick, there might have even been time for him to see Heracles before he left.

The doctor examined the paper printed out by the machine. He made a ‘hrrrm’ sound, before he stuck it to his clipboard. “Yes, there’s an embryo present. I’ll mark a check-up for another six week’s time.”

He went on to say something about sending the print-out to the database, and that the next test he would run would determine whether it was an Alpha or Omega. Samuil only cared for the initial confirmation. The specifics could wait.

Upon leaving the infirmary, he found he no longer felt quite as ill as he had done before. Instead, there was a rush of energy. His heart was racing, his blood rushing harder and faster the further he got from the infirmary and the closer he got to the barracks.

The barracks themselves were cut off and behind keycard locks, but they bordered the open docking area, a large, high-walled hangar, where a great deal of commotion was going on already. It was always like this on days when anyone was making a departure, whether it be a team of Alphas or Omegas. Even wardens sometimes caused organised chaos in there, if there was some kind of mission they were assigned to. Vehicles were everywhere; a quick glance showed they were being backed up into the cargo hold of a huge military jet.

There were very few actual _Alphas_ \- and so, Heracles was easy to spot, even from the balcony level. The use of the plane meant that HQ’s primary mission was going to be a routine supply drop; the Alphas being sent that day were just hitching a ride.

Once he’d cleared the steps and made it to the hangar’s ground level, Samuil wandered over to where Heracles was crouched by a large rucksack, zipping the folds of it shut. Though he’d wanted to go there for a reason, now faced with it, Samuil wasn’t sure what to do or say. Even in such a big space with others rushing around, Heracles could sense that Samuil was there. He turned towards him, his expression vacant, heaving the rucksack up and over his shoulder. Already, he was dressed in the Alpha’s battlefield uniform; a dark camouflage, which went underneath a layer of light armour he had yet to put on, and probably wouldn’t until he reached his destination. The issue with armour was that if it were too heavy, it would decrease an Alpha’s speed. HQ spent a long time formulating an armour that was decent enough protection without compromising on agility. For a normal human, it was probably still quite heavy, though. Omegas had similar protection when present on the field, though much thicker and more effective; a little ironic, considering they weren’t the ones on the front line.

Though his armour wasn’t on, there were two mandatory things he was wearing. Where there were two straps crossed over his chest marked a small circular device at the centre - the bomb that all Alphas were required to wear. And, the gag, the opening device of which Samuil had been made to hand over.

“Hey.” Samuil said, shifting the weight between his feet. He smiled, but Heracles didn’t try to return it. “Uh, I got some news.”

Heracles stared at him for a moment, and then dug into his pocket, bringing out the gag’s switch. He clicked it open, and then took it out of his mouth.

“I know.” The expression on Heracles’s face changed to a desolate one as he sighed. “Your scent started to change a couple of weeks back.”

 _Oh._ Samuil didn’t know what to think of that. “Yeah, well, I kinda knew too. Just went to confirm it. I uh, I’ve been throwin’ up most of the mornin’, so...” He jabbed his finger towards the gag. “Are ya allowed to take that off?”

“For communication only. And for no more than five minutes.” For a few prolonged moments, Heracles breathed out again, and shut his eyes. It looked like he was about to fall asleep on his feet (something Samuil wouldn’t have minded doing right then and there, himself). “I have to go, Samuil.” He said.

Mimicking the blank tone Heracles had used before, Samuil repeated his words, “I know.”

Upon opening his eyes, the Alpha stepped past him, and in the direction of the plane’s boarding ramp. He began fixing his gag back into place as he did so.

“Wh-What that’s it? No ‘goodbye’!?” Samuil’s face, and voice, soured; the lines jumped out of his mouth the moment the pang of realisation hit him.

Heracles stopped mid-step. His head bowed a bit, gag withdrawn again. “Samuil.” Another pause followed. Samuil watched him in anticipation. Then, he turned back. “I’m happy that you came to see me.”

Samuil’s lips formed a hard line. “Then act it, would ya?” He huffed, running a hand backwards through his hair. “Sorry. I know you can get distant and all, but I had to come tell ya, before ya left.” Careful not to touch the bomb in any way, ruling out the possibility of an embrace, Samuil approached him after letting out a deep sigh, leaning over and pressing a light kiss to his forehead.

Though he was still without much expression, Heracles did push his head back into the kiss a bit. Before Samuil pulled away, he muttered under his breath, “Goodbye, Samuil.”

After taking two steps backwards, to where he’d stood before, Samuil stared straight at the Alpha. His heart ached already. He understood, then, why Heracles hadn’t wanted to say goodbye. Did it hurt him to do so? Was it worse, knowing he was leaving behind an unborn child as well, not knowing when he’d be able to come back? Biter or not, Samuil knew they couldn’t keep him out on the field forever. That was the single thought that gave him hope. _One day, he will come back._

“Hera.” Samuil’s lips curled into a soft smile. “I love you.”

There was pain in Heracles’s face, in his eyes. Yet, he seemed to, for Samuil’s sake or otherwise, force himself to return the same smile. “I love you too.”

*

“131-181115?”

Samuil was sick of hearing that name for himself, if it could even be called a ‘name’.

He returned to the hangar a little over a week after the supply plane had departed. If HQ had been merciful and had granted Heracles leave after his rut had ended, he would be on the first flight back, no doubt.

But, after watching several Alphas pour out of the plane, and disperse, he found that his own wasn’t among them. Just as he was preparing to turn around and leave, a uniformed Alpha approached him, speaking his batch number. How did he know that?

“That’s me, yeah.” Samuil eyed the man, and the strange bundle, wrapped up in dark cloth, that he was carrying in his arms.

To his surprise, the Alpha presented the bundle to him, a solemn look on his face. Once Samuil had taken it with some apprehension, he stared at him again, expectant.

The man lifted his hand to his forehead in a salute. Then, he spoke, like he was reading from a script, “Private Heracles Karpusi, 131-181272, in pledging his loyalty to HQ, the realm of Utopia, her civilians and armed forces, lost his life in the line of fire. He fought bravely for Utopia and the crown. May his soul find rest.”

Samuil felt like his whole world had just crashed down upon him - quite literally. His body felt weak, his limbs started to shake. Eyes widened, searching the Alpha’s face, he gasped over and over, trying to form coherent words. “Wh-What? No, that’s not. No, he--”

The Alpha lowered his hand, and spoke with a little more empathy. “Enemy fire detonated his bomb. This was all that was left. I’m sorry.”

All that was left.  _All that was left._  The phrase repeated in Samuil’s mind like it was a constant echo, back and forth. He felt sick. He was going to vomit the moment he pulled back the fabric, wasn’t he?

He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want it to be set in stone. He didn’t want to have proof that what the Alpha was saying was true - he wanted to go back to his apartment and wait and then, in a month’s time or two, Heracles would appear again. He’d come back on another flight, and this would have been just a hoax. He would come back.  _He would._

Samuil’s vision started to blur, as he opened the bundle, too horrified to be steady about it. A broad hand stared at him, palm upwards, the black-inked tattoo on the wrist a stark contrast to the pallid, yellowing skin.

**α**

Before the lurch of his stomach could make him throw up, he fainted.

*

Two months were never going to be enough time to fall in love with someone.

But Samuil felt like he’d come damned well close enough.

*

“So, this is goodbye, I guess.”

Erzsébet looked shaken. Samuil had already faced three long, hard months of being shaken to the core, so he was pretty sure he didn’t look at all like the decision to close the program had come as any kind of shock.

“Yeah.” He threw the bag he’d packed over his shoulder, and gave her a nod of acknowledgement. “Guess I’ll see ya ‘round.”

She opened her mouth for a moment, then appeared to hesitate. One of the lights in the main room of Samuil’s apartment had started flickering and making a buzzing noise when on, which filled the silence; he didn’t report it, nor really care at all. What did it matter? The building would be torn down, or perhaps HQ had other plans for it.

“Samuil? Where will you go?” Erzsébet asked, when he’d started to turn to leave. “I-I don’t know if I told you.” She started to wring her hands together awkwardly. “But, I’m actually getting married soon. My fiancé has room at his home, so you’re welcome to stay.”

He wished he could have at least appeared happy for her. He really wished he could.

“I know where I’m goin’.” He told her, with as firm a tone as he could. “I’m goin’ as far away from here as possible.” Staring her in the eye, he added, “I’m goin’ to The North. The trainin’ I got here, as a medic, means I’m as good as any qualified doctor out there.”

With that, he started to walk.

Her footsteps pursued him, “Wait! Samuil, I can’t stop you from going to The North.” He stopped to listen to her again. “But, how are you going to get there? I have a car, so, I could take you.”

He gave her a sceptic look. “You’re not my warden any more. The program’s over. It’s done. Ya don’t have to try to help me with everythin’ any more.”

“Would you stop that!?” Her voice rose. “I might not be your warden, but I’m still your friend, aren’t I?”

A heavy exhale left his lips. “Then, as my friend, do me one thing.”

Erzsébet paused, head tilted. “What is it?”

“Stop callin’ me Samuil.”

_Samuil is dead._

_Samuil died with his Alpha and his child._

As he started to walk again, the next question was asked, “Then, what should I call you?”

*

A few days before he had to move to the barracks, Heracles had leant over Samuil’s lap, his face pressed close to his stomach.

At the time, Samuil had thought nothing of it. His eyes were fixated on the TV, the anchor reporting on the recent public appearance by Utopia’s royal family.

“I think the first son we have, we should call him ‘Marko’.”

“Hnh? Why’s that?”

Heracles’s shoulders lifted in a sort of half-shrug.

“I read the name in a book once. It stuck with me, I guess.”

Samuil took his attention away from the TV for a moment to consider it. “Hmn. It’s a pretty nice name.”

 _Yeah_ , he thought, without speaking another word about it, _I’ll remember that, Hera. We’ll call him ‘Marko’._


	5. Chapter 5

A hot bath was more than welcome, after what must have been at least an hour of aimless wandering around the town. It was even better to know he had a clean set of clothes he could change into afterwards. Marko guessed that following Vuk’s advice wasn’t the worst thing he could do; the guy had made some decent decisions, so far. Then again, perhaps ‘buy us some clean stuff and then take a bath’ was just common sense.

Marko kept half of the clothes for himself, and placed the rest back in one of the bags. Once dried and dressed, he stepped outside the door of his room, with the intention of leaving the packed bag in front of the door opposite for whenever Vuk got back - before he heard a _thud, thud, thud,_ plodding across the creaky floorboards.

The Alpha’s head was lolling forwards, his steps unbalanced. He was running on empty, then. Marko didn’t blame him, his own limbs were still aching from the hike.

Vuk stumbled forwards with a groan. Out of impulse (he supposed) Marko moved towards him, grabbing his arm before he could topple over. Regaining a somewhat upright position, Vuk gave him a darkened glower. He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the key to his door, shoving it towards Marko with a single grunt.

“So tired ya can’t even unlock a door?” Marko snorted, unhanding him and taking the key. “How much did ya eat?”

Another grunting noise. Either Vuk didn’t have it in him to answer, or didn’t want to. It wasn’t clear, either way.

“Here’s the clothes I bought, by the way. I got you a coat, too. You’ve probably already caught a cold in that.” He motioned with the hand that was freed after opening the door to the hooded sweatshirt Vuk had been wearing since the night before. Alphas did tend to have much stronger immune systems than Omegas did, but even so, Marko imagined it was a good thing Vuk was about to hibernate for a couple of days.

The Alpha tugged the bag out of his hand and continued lumbering into the room. The bag was then dropped onto the floor by the pine-framed bed, before Vuk fell face down onto the bedclothes. He left the door wide open. Marko stared inside for a few moments, before sighing.

“Ya can’t sleep like that.” He stepped across the threshold, and towards the other man. Again, he was driven by instinct, but this time, the memory of how Vuk had been acting before stopped him in his tracks. Marko was still annoyed with him, that went without saying, irrespective of whether his rut had anything to do with it or not. He let out a grumbling of his own. “C’mere.” He wasn’t sure that wrestling with Vuk was going to work. The best he could do was pull back his duvet and guide him inside by jabbing the bony point of his elbow into Vuk’s back.

Eventually, the Alpha moved into a good enough position for Marko to bring the covers back over him. _It’s kinda like putting a problem child to bed_ , he thought to himself.

Still with his back to him, Marko couldn’t tell whether Vuk was asleep or not. He threw his hands up in the air in mock defeat, regardless, and announced, “Sweet dreams. Or not. I don’t care any more.”

Then, he left the room, slipping the key onto the inside of the door before he considered taking his fleeting thought about locking Vuk in seriously.

Someone was waiting for him in the hallway. Someone who had almost crept up on him quietly. The young, blond Alpha that lived there in the inn with his parents.

“Oh. Hey.” Marko said, making his tone a bit softer. “Peter, right?”

Peter nodded, and extended what he was holding to Marko. It was the blanket he’d given the boy when they’d been out in the snow, folded up neat. “Thanks for letting me borrow this.”

“Don’t mention it.” He took the blanket back, tucking it under his arm. “Ya feelin’ better now, kid?”

“Well, uh.” A meek look crossed the boy’s face, and he lowered his head a bit. “Not really. Mama wants to talk to...” He pointed to Vuk’s door. “...That guy, y’know. But also, to you, too. Mama might get scary if you guys don’t talk.”

That sounded a little more threatening than it should have. Marko frowned. “ _He’s_ gonna be out could for a few days. I don’t mind talkin’ with your mother, though.” He tossed the spare blanket back into his room, before turning his attention back to Peter. “Does it have to be now?”

“Uhhh.” Another brisk nod. “I think Mama wants it to be soon.”

Marko began to walk down the hall. This ‘Mama’ Peter was talking about must have been Berwald’s wife, but he had yet to see a woman around the inn. “Ya gonna show me the way, then?”

Peter jogged forwards to keep up with him, which was apparently also a ‘yes’, because he changed the topic quite fast after that, “H-Hey, Mister?”

“It’s Marko.”

“ _Mister Marko_ \- is that guy your Alpha?”

It took a lot for Marko not to stare at the boy in disbelief. He’d dealt with blunter questions from kids before, but given the _timing_ of that one, he was a little more than stunned by it. “Uh, no.” Was the quick answer he gave, eyes darting away. Come to think of it, it probably did look questionable, an Alpha and Omega travelling together. It was better that Peter asked now, so that he didn’t end up drawing his own conclusions. “I only met him yesterday.”

“Ohh.” Peter looked convinced - for a moment. “My Mama says something similar, y’know? Whenever Papa’s being a weirdo, Mama says ‘I’m not married to him, I’m not his wife, I don’t even know the guy!!’” He put on an extra-squeaky voice when imitating ‘Mama’, for effect.

Genuinely not knowing what to make of that, Marko turned deadpan, “Yeah, somehow I don’t think it’s the same.”

Peter scuttled off once they’d reached the ground floor. Marko almost followed him, under the assumption he was still supposed to, but was stopped by the blond man behind the desk. “Ah-- Sir! Peter gave you your belongings back, _yah_?”

“Yeah.” Marko said, eyeing Peter as he disappeared around another corner of the room. “He said uh, his mother wants to talk to me. Is she through there somewhere, or...?”

The man laughed a bit, but it was strained. “O-Oh. Heh. You know, I swear they do it on purpose sometimes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m Peter’s ‘Mama’, actually.”

“Oh. Right.” Marko felt a little stupid after hearing that.

“Call me Timo. By the way, have you had anything to eat yet?”

Timo appeared - or, rather, reappeared - in the dining room a short while after he’d provided Marko with a bowl of soup. By that time Marko had mostly forgotten that the blond man had ever wanted to speak with him, he was too busy stuffing his face. Save for the gritty bread Vuk had given him, he hadn't eaten since the evening before, a short while before Erzsébet had come to visit.

“There’s more left, if you’re still hungry.” Timo said, taking the seat opposite Marko’s. He made an awkward grin. “Heh. It was the only thing we had ready that your friend didn’t polish off before.”

“S’good.” Marko mumbled, between bites, dipping the edge of his bread roll into the broth. “Did you make it?”

Shaking his head a bit, Timo replied, “Berwald did, actually. The recipe’s my mother’s, though.” He looked pensive for a moment. “Well, it’s really my mother’s _mother’s,_  but, anyway, Berwald usually makes it better than I do. I can’t say I know how he does it.”

After swallowing what was in his mouth, Marko spoke again. “I uh, I feel like I should apologise, by the way, for my uh--” He paused. What was Vuk, anyway? Calling him a ‘friend’ was a stretch. Associate? “Companion.” He decided. “It probably seemed rude of him to come in here and demand he be fed everythin’, but he didn’t really have much of a choice.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Timo waved his hand in a dismissive motion. “For a moment, we were kinda worried he really was going to eat _everything_ , though. It’s pretty impressive how much he can pack away! I haven’t seen Berwald look that shocked since Peter managed to tear his shed door off its hinges.” It was almost like a light switch clicked on inside of Timo’s head, then. “Oh! That reminds me.” He lowered his voice, the brightness waning from his face a bit. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“About Peter?” Marko scraped up another spoonful of soup.

Timo nodded, leaning over the table a little. “Peter told me everything that happened. About you and your friend coming across him and helping him when he was in trouble.” His expression became saddened. “Ah. Truth is, I had to really press him to get him to admit to it. I feel bad for that, but also, I feel like I should’ve been keeping a better eye on him anyway. After he broke that vase this morning and I got mad at him, I thought he’d just gone to sulk outside. It wasn’t for some time that Berwald and I even realised he wasn’t in town.”

Marko listened, but he didn’t know how much of what Timo was saying was relevant information. It seemed like every time the blond opened his mouth, he would always say more than necessary.

“But then, Peter tells me that the two of you are like him, and that you’d make Berwald and I understand him.” Timo shuffled a bit in his seat. And then, he sighed. “The thing is, we’ve tried to already, and though we had an inkling of what we were getting ourselves into. Peter isn’t like other Alphas to begin with.”

Now, Timo had Marko’s interest caught. He raised an eyebrow at the blond, hoping he was willing to elaborate. “What’s that mean?”

Timo seemed to falter a little before he started to form an answer. “Well, I’ll admit now, Berwald and I, all the information we had was given to us by Peter’s brother, when he brought him here. So, I don’t know everything he meant. You know them, though, right? The Kirkland Dynasty?”

Marko had almost forgotten that Peter was a Kirkland. It seemed so bizarre a fact that he still hadn’t wholly comprehended it. He placed his spoon down again. “Yeah. They were sorta like the family at the forefront of the program. It’s kinda believed they ended up runnin’ everythin’ behind the scenes there. None of us ever saw ‘em face-to-face, though. Peter’s one of ‘em, right?” It felt weird to even say.

The smile on Timo’s face was visibly forced. “Sort of. Out of the current generation of Kirklands, four of them are Alphas, and one of them is an Omega.” He scratched at the back of his head. “If I remember right, the Omega was the second youngest, and also the favourite of their parents, but around his tenth birthday, he started to become very ill.” His brow knitted a bit, like he was starting to think hard about what he was saying. “So ill, in fact, that the whole of the Kirkland household were sure he was going to die. Having given up on trying to save his life, his parents used a scheme that had been banned by the program after it had failed before: they cloned their dying son.” Very straightforwardly, he added, “Peter is the result of that.”

Having never heard of anything like that before, what Timo revealed was surprising, to say the least. Marko stared at the other man, frowning a little. Most of what the Kirkland Dynasty did, they did without the rest of the program knowing. So it was even more strange to find something out like that, whilst sat in an inn in The North, still a world apart from HQ and the capital.

But, that didn’t even feel like the most odd thing about it. “So, Peter knows about all this, huh?”

“Oh, _yah_ , he knows. It’s kind of a sensitive topic for him, though.”

Marko didn’t blame Peter for that. “‘They cloned their dyin’ son’.” He repeated the words Timo had said over, like he were struggling to understand them. He didn’t doubt that HQ had ever undertaken secretive cloning research; in fact, given the nature of the program, it would have been a stretch to say they had never dabbled in it whatsoever. But something still didn’t add up. “But, if they cloned an Omega...”

“Then why’d they get an Alpha?” Timo finished the sentence for him. “Well, I don’t know, and Peter’s brother didn’t seem to know, either.” He lifted his arms in a shrug. “But they were undertaking something that had failed many times before. Apparently, Peter is the only clone to have ever survived using that process. And even then...” His expression hardened a little. “He was born with several defects, so the Kirklands neither considered him as a real Alpha, or as a mimic of an Omega. That’s why the marking on his arm is scrawled out.”

Remembering the strange tattoo on the young Alpha’s arm, Marko gave a bit of a nod. There was one other thing that needed explaining, though, so he pressed, “Defects?”

“I know Peter seems like a perfectly healthy boy, but yes, physically there are some things wrong with him. He might’ve survived the process, but he was born severely disabled. Both of his arms and one of his legs are prosthetic limbs.” Timo clicked his thumbnail on the back of his front tooth, pensive. “Every year, we travel with him back to the capital, to get new limbs fitted, since he grows out of them so quickly. All things considered, it’s really no wonder he associates the capital with pain.”

 _You and me both, kid_ , Marko added, to himself.

“Anyway, Berwald and I decided since this town is usually very peaceful, we wouldn’t worry too much about his conditions, and treat him like we would any other child.” He let out a deep exhale. “So, that’s kinda why I wanted to talk to you and your friend. I thought maybe you might have some advice or something.”

That was why? All that explanation, just to ask for parenting tips? Marko mulled it over. “Well.” He began. “Honestly? You’re not doin’ anythin’ wrong. Given the circumstances, it seems like Peter probably benefits from the two of you not smotherin’ him.” He thought back to why he and Vuk had encountered the young Alpha in the first place. Peter had wanted to visit Mikkel. Was that even possible? Marko still didn’t know what had become of his village. Biting the inside of his lip, he asked, “It’s possible to get to his Uncle Mikkel’s from here, right? See, uh, I actually live in that village. I kinda left it in chaos, though.”

“Chaos?” Timo blinked, looking gormless for a moment. “What!?”

Thinking he probably shouldn’t have said that, Marko raised his hands. “Uhh, look, relax, Mikkel and everyone else’re probably fine.” _Probably. Hopefully._ “It’s just uh, when things’re settled there, maybe Peter should go visit for a while. That was where he wanted to go when he up and left, after all.”

“That might be a good plan.” Timo nodded a bit. “Um, to be honest, though, Berwald doesn’t like Mikkel much. I think he might take some convincing. But um.” He shifted in his seat. “What’s this about ‘chaos’? Can’t you tell me more? Peter did say you were from Mikkel’s village, but nothing more than that.”

He really had said too much. But since the dining room was empty, it was highly unlikely anyone (save perhaps Berwald, Lars or Peter) could overhear. Marko hushed his voice anyway. “Yesterday evenin’, HQ entered the village with the intention of findin’ rebels.” Not knowing how Timo felt about the rebel forces, he inferred nothing about Vuk status or his own affiliation. Typically the people in The North knew little about Alphas and Omegas, let alone their newly forged connection to the rebels, but Timo was already an exception to that rule. “But HQ found a culprit, so it’s likely everythin’s fine, now.”

“Oh.” Timo seemed to buy into the avoidance. “Well, you’re right that Mikkel’s place can be reached from here. It’s a couple of hours drive away. I’ll ask Berwald if he’ll head over and check everything’s fine. But...” He paused. “If that happened, how come you’re here, then?”

 _Shit._ “Uh, well.” Unable to come up with an excuse, Marko revealed some of the truth, “HQ suspect a lot of Alphas and Omegas, since a lot of ‘em joined up as rebels when the program was dissolved. So I ran from the village before they could find me and I.D. me.” He added quickly, “I’m not a rebel, though. I was the village’s doctor.”

A look of suspicion crossed Timo’s face, but he shook it off with a sigh. “Well, whether there really were rebels there or not, I’m pretty worried about Mikkel, now.” He rose from his seat. “Thanks for talking, by the way.”

“S’fine. Look, uh.” Marko decided to keep their conversation clear of the village topic. “The guy I’m travellin’ with, were ya gonna ask him the same thing? About Peter? ‘Cause all he’ll say is for ya take him to the capital and give him to another Alpha to look after.”

Timo’s eyes went wide. “What, he’d really say _that_?”

“Yeah. He told Berwald that already, anyway. Plus, he’s gonna be asleep for the next two days, too. Maybe three.” Marko gave Timo a firm nod. “S’a habit Alphas have, after they eat a bucketload of food. Kinda like hibernatin’. Ya might not wanna waste your time.”

“Oh. I get it. Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

 

Time in the inn went by very slowly. Marko became bored, biding his time, waiting for Vuk to wake up so he’d be able to tell him what they were to do next.

The evening after Marko had spoken to Timo, the blond man had gotten into a loud fight with his ‘husband’ over seeing if Mikkel - and his village - were okay. Marko wanted to know, himself. He didn’t know whether the pang of guilt he was feeling all the while was over him possibly having caused havoc for the village, or over him more or less creating the argument between Timo and Berwald… For such a quiet man, Berwald’s shouts were frighteningly loud. They shook the floorboards between the inn’s levels. Marko had to wonder if he’d forgotten they had guests.

The next morning, it was Timo who had departed, taking the car, and Peter too (Marko was pretty sure he’d heard him begging to go with his father outside of his window whilst he was still half-asleep). Berwald served breakfast at nine on the dot. When he arrived in the dining room, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was askew. It looked like he’d been up all night cooking.

He didn’t speak to Marko until after the plates had been cleared away.

“‘ _ey._ Got a question.”

About to leave, Marko paused and turned, standing on the threshold of the dining room and the entrance hall. He wondered if the man was going to interrogate him about what he’d discussed with Timo. “Yeah? What is it?”

“When y’leave here, where’re y’goin’?” He asked, plainly.

Marko had been asking himself the same thing. The answer was obvious, though. He didn’t know. And he wouldn’t know until Vuk woke up. “No idea.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know the area. The other guy does, so I’m waitin’ for him to say.”

Berwald gave a slow nod of the head. “Y’know if yer goin’ to the capit’l?”

He paused, realising he hadn’t taken that into consideration.  _Was_ Vuk going to drag him back to the capital? He sure hoped that wasn’t going to happen. “Like I said, I don’t know. Why d’ya ask?”

“W’nna ask a favour.” Berwald reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, pale-blue envelope, folded over. He kept it in his hands, as he eyed Marko. “Yer a rebel, _yah_?”

Marko felt the colour drain from his face. So, either Timo wasn’t as gullible as he seemed, or Berwald had figured it out from what he’d been told. “Uh. No.” He coughed a bit. He had to remind himself he wasn’t lying. “Really, I’m not.”

“Yer friend?”

Something about Berwald’s intent stare made Marko uncomfortable enough to admit in an exhale, “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

Thankfully, the blond man seemed okay with it. “Got a favour for ‘im.” He motioned to the envelope. “M’friends in th’capit’l’re rebels. W’nna get this letter to ‘em.”

Friends in the capital that were rebels? That was a relief to hear, strange as it seemed. But, Marko didn’t know if Vuk would agree to play mailman for them. “Eh, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

Berwald seemed to accept that as an answer, moving along and placing the envelope back into his pocket like the conversation hadn’t happened at all. Marko thought nothing of the object again, but did keep in mind the fact that Berwald had rebel friends. He wondered if they were Alphas and Omegas, themselves - and, moreover, he wondered what Vuk would think of that fact.

It wasn’t even afternoon that day when Marko decided he was so bored that he’d help Berwald with some of the cleaning of the inn. He later ended up helping the blond man lug some of the firewood from the town’s stock back there. Berwald never spoke much, but Marko didn’t care about holding a conversation, as long as he was doing something to pass the time.

Timo didn’t return to the inn until it was close to sundown. Marko was, at that point, knelt polishing up the table in the entrance, which he’d previously decluttered and dusted off.

“ _Ey_ , nice job!” The blond grinned, leaning over the table. “I can almost see my face in it!”

Marko snorted. “The things ya do when you’re bored, huh?” He rose to his feet.

“It’s still good of you to help out, even though you’re paying to stay here.” Timo clinked his car keys in his fingers. “Oh! So, I went to visit Mikkel today.”

Bracing for the worst, Marko glanced over at him.

“He’s doing fine, and so’s the village. I told him about you and it turns out he was really worried that you were in a lot of trouble.” A meek smile on his face, Timo added, “Your version of events didn’t exactly add up with his, though.”

 _Oh._ Marko had felt a huge weight off his shoulders, but then another replaced it. “Well uh, I wasn’t sure I could tell ya everythin’.”

“It’s fine.” Timo rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s just one problem.” His tone of voice grew serious. “Um, HQ _have_ been in contact with the village, since the vehicle you were in went missing. They won’t return to the village, so they say, but they’re still looking for _you_.”

That was both good and bad news, then. Marko sighed. “Timo, believe me, I’m not a rebel. What I told HQ, I told ‘em to make sure they left the village alone.”

Timo paused. “Mikkel doesn’t know that, but I’ll tell him next time I see him. Actually, I kinda took your advice.” He grinned. “Peter’s staying there for the next week.”

It really must have been safe back there, then. “Thanks for goin’, anyway. It’s a real load off my mind to know everythin’s fine.”

“Don’t mention it! Really. Even if you weren’t gonna be driven crazy by the possibility something was wrong, I sure was.” The blond chuckled a bit, as if to alleviate the discomfort of his words. “Well, I’d better tell Berwald about the trip. I stayed a while, so he probably got worried.”

Timo hurried away. Marko was left stood idly, holding the polishing rag, unable to decide whether the ache in his stomach was from relief, or the reinforced concern that HQ were out there, looking for him. The village was safe, he’d been broken out of custody by Vuk, and he’d wound up staying with people who were more than sympathetic to his situation… He just couldn’t help but wonder - when was his luck going to run out?

 

* * *

 

On the morning of the third day at the inn, a harsh banging on the door of his room woke Marko with an abrupt jolt. He swore, head snapping in that direction, eyes squinting in the darkness.

“Wh-What is it!?” He spluttered out. Why was he being woken when the Goddamned sun hadn’t even risen? Was something wrong? That little sense of dread in his chest began to stir as he began to fear the worst.

The voice that spoke through the door was almost as much of a surprise as the noise they’d made to rouse him. “Get up. We’re gonna eat breakfast and go.” It was Vuk.

Marko wriggled out from under the bedclothes and felt around on the nightstand for the lamp’s switch. He winced in the yellowy brightness that followed the little _click_. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be down in a minute.”

A creaking of the floorboards in the hallway signalled that Vuk had gone ahead. Marko shook the drowsiness off as he began to collect his clothes together, remembering that he had a few things to say to the Alpha, now that his prolonged sleep was over.

But before that, he was going to find out what Vuk was like outside of his rut. Though he was still curious, he concluded that it wasn’t something he was all that thrilled about knowing.

Cleaned and dressed, Marko stepped out of the room and downstairs. A very sleepy looking Timo bid him good morning from behind the desk, before he put his head down upon it, rested on his folded arms. Marko took a brief glance out of one of the bay windows. The sky was still a deep, dark blue. What time even was it, anyway?

He shuffled into the dining room. Already, Vuk was sat with a stack of buttered toast in front of him, chewing on the piece in hand. He gave Marko a hard stare when he entered the room, eyes not leaving his until he’d stopped the slow, lax movements of his jaw and swallowed. He looked like the same Vuk from a few days before - simply less weary, with his hair more kempt and his skin clearer, and wearing one of the changes of clothes Marko had bought. Whereas it seemed like a decent enough start, Marko was still cautious when he approached the table and took the seat opposite.

They were both silent. Vuk pushed on the plate, sliding it across.

“Eat.” He said.

A one word command? So, not much _had_ changed, really.

“Good mornin’ to you, too.” Marko replied with a wry tone, plucking the first piece of bread off the stack. It was the same thick, dark, sour-tasting rye bread that came with the soups. Once Marko had started to nibble on it, Vuk grabbed another piece.

“Don’t gimme that. I’m still waking up.” He grumbled a bit, before taking a large bite.

“Think we all are.” After saying that, Marko dropped the matter-of-factness. “D’ya sleep well, anyway? ‘Cause, you were kind of a pain to put to bed the other day.”

“Hnh? Th’t w’s y’h?” Vuk said with a mouthful of toast, managing to sound akin to Berwald. He swallowed. “Oh, yeah, I remember now.  _Shit_ , man, your elbows’re sharp.”

Feeling rather proud of that fact, Marko snickered a bit, breathily. “Wasn’t really any other way to move ya.” Whilst the other shoved the rest of the toast piece into his mouth, he eyed the shirt he was wearing - a colour Marko had dubbed in his head as ‘dark-and-slightly-off-olive-drab’. “So uh, the clothes’re alright, then?”

Shrugging, Vuk replied, “Dunno. Do I look like something a hiking shop shat out? Sure, but you didn’t really have any other options, so I can’t complain.”

Marko supposed this was a good opportunity to shoehorn in his main enquiry, “I mostly meant the fit, but if it’s so bad, pick somethin’ else up at... Wherever we’re goin’ next - you never said.”

Vuk rubbed at the corner of his eye with his ring finger; it seemed to be the only one clear of butter and crumbs. “From here there’s only south to go, not that we’d wanna go any other way. The only place to go is the capital. You’ll be safe with the other Omegas in our stronghold.” He began to glance around, frowning. “Ah, _fuck_ , we shouldn’t be talking about that stuff here.”

Though Marko’s fears were confirmed in what Vuk had said, he had to react first to what he’d said last, “What, the rebel stuff? Neither Berwald nor Timo care.” _And the only other person who can possibly hear is Lars_ , he added mentally.

His face souring, Vuk asked coolly, “Yeah? And how d’you know that?”

“‘Cause they told me they had friends in the rebel forces.” Marko fought the urge to roll his eyes. “They told me a lotta things, actually.”

“ _Fucking Christ_.” Vuk hissed. “What part of ‘keep a low profile’ don’t you get!?”

“Look, the point is they’re fine with it. Remember? They have an Alpha for a son. Sorta.”

“You dumb bastard! That’s how you fall into traps, trusting people that could be - I don’t know - HQ spies or something.” Vuk slumped back in his seat, huffing. “M’not saying those guys are, I get that they’re not, but take some Goddamn care in the future, _sheesh._ ”

What was significantly different about Vuk now was evident in the way he’d said that. He still displayed his anger, but it was a restrained irritation. He didn’t hiss or spit his words; he said them outright.

“Actually...” Marko said, returning to the topic at hand, “Because of it, Berwald wanted to ask a favour of ya.”

Vuk raised an eyebrow, looking displeased. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Somethin’ about deliverin’ a letter to their friends in the capital, I think. If you’re goin’. Which y’are.” He folded his hands on the table. “But uh, I’m not gonna be joinin’ ya.”

For a moment, Vuk gave him an incredulous look. “Tough shit. You don’t have a choice.”

Marko felt his eye twitching. “Says who? _You_? I already told ya, you’re not the boss of me. If you’re goin’ to the capital, then we’re gonna be partin’ ways from here.” The words came out as soon as they flashed up in his mind, but in reality he was conflicted. As much as he wanted to head home to Andersen’s village, he didn’t think that was possible. He’d thought about it a lot ever since Timo had told him that everything was okay there. Sure, he _could_ go back, but then, even if HQ had said they’d leave the place alone, that wouldn’t mean searches would stop there altogether. Him going back there after escaping would be their first suspicion, and he couldn’t risk putting it in more danger.

“Y’know who asked me to do all this? Y’know who came crying to me about an Omega that had gotten himself into trouble and needed bringing back to the capital? Your _damned warden_ , that’s who.” Vuk lifted his hands, as if he were soon ready to give up on the argument.

Erzsébet? That sounded about right. “In that case, you’re bein’ used.” Marko said, his voice growing bitter. “She’s been wantin’ me to go back to the capital ever since I left. Bet she figured she could hit two birds with one stone, this way.”

“I don’t give a shit what her reasoning was.” The Alpha’s back straightened. “Just that she needed the job doing, and I’m not planning to half-ass it by letting you run off now.” He narrowed his eyes a bit. “And even if you did, where’s there to go from here? Dunno if you’ve noticed maybe, but The North is a fuckton of mountains and wasteland and barely any life save for places like this. The only place you’d be able to get back to on your own is your village. Is that what you want?” He began to raise his volume, like he was losing more and more of his patience with every other word he spoke. “You wanna risk getting your ass caught again? ‘Cause I get the feeling that HQ are currently scrambling to find both their lost vehicle and automata and not just your ass, but the ass of whoever ripped their shit up.”

This was how it was going to be, then? Vuk was going to reprimand him for his actions, even after he’d slept on it. “I know. I had a lot of time to think about things like that.” Marko grumbled. “I get that I can’t go back home. But I’m not goin’ to the capital, either.”

“Then where _are_ you gonna go, huh? For the sake of this town, you can’t stay put.” The Alpha inhaled a deep, slow breath through his nose. “You belong with the rest of us.”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me where I belong!” Marko snapped, slamming his hands on the table. His chair scraped backwards as he shot out of his seat. “I decided four years ago to leave the capital and never set foot in that shithole again. Don’t--” He grimaced. “Don’t act that just ‘cause I’m an Omega, you know what’s best for me. You’re not my Alpha, my damned babysitter, or my superior in any way, and neither’s Erzsébet.”

Vuk paused, and stared at Marko for a few moments. “You didn’t answer my question.” He said, frowning. “If you’re not gonna come with me to the capital, where _are_ you going?”

Slumping back into his seat, Marko leant over the table with his head in his hands, both frustrated and defeated, among other things. Face crinkled, eyes clenched shut, he breathed out the answer, “I don’t know.”

Silence filled the room. When Vuk spoke again, his tone was dull, almost void of all emotion. “This place’ll be infested with HQ’s cronies within a week’s time. They’ll start small - they probably have already; they’ll send half a dozen vehicles out to check the main route between the capital and your village. By now they’ve probably done that, and since they haven’t found us there, they’re gonna start to look at the other settlements. Which means they’ll search here. If we leave now, we’ve got a window of opportunity. We’re in luck, ‘cause they won’t waste their jets trying to track us from the air until they’re completely desperate. Where we are now is further south than your village, but also further west. We’re gonna step off the main road and keep going south for a couple of days, then cut east ‘til we get to Utopia’s borderlands. We gotta be careful, but we’ll be able to enter the area from that direction.” The chair creaked under his weight as he shifted, stopping to think for a couple of seconds. “Only problem is, the stronghold’s on the east side, so we’ll need to go through the old city to get there.”

Marko didn’t really ingest all of the information. His mind was preoccupied with the notion of setting foot in the capital again. The memories of the day he’d left were burned into his mind - the vow he’d made never to return, the reason he’d wanted to be alone. He took a quick glance up at the other man. Would Vuk understand why he’d left, if he told him? He didn’t think so, somehow.

So that was it, then. Vuk was right - he had no choice. Begrudgingly, he had to resign himself to his fate and continue to travel with the other. He hated feeling the way he did. Powerless, hopeless; forced to stick by an Alpha’s side. It wasn’t a matter of what he wanted to do, any more. It was a matter of what he had to do to keep himself safe.

“Eat.” Vuk pushed on the plate of toast again. “You’re gonna need the energy. Believe me.”

 

* * *

 

“There’s something I want to give you guys, before you go.”

After he had said that, Timo had disappeared into one of the inn’s back rooms. Marko peered across the lobby in the meantime, watching Berwald presenting Vuk with the same pale-blue envelope he’d shown to Marko before.

The Alpha plucked it from his hand and tucked it away in his satchel. “Yeah, I know who they are. I’ll probably see ‘em anyway, so it’s no big deal.” He was saying.

Berwald nodded, muttering something inaudible to Marko that he guessed was a ‘thank you’. Marko himself still didn’t know who the recipients of the letter were, and though he was more than a little curious he decided it was better not to pry.

Timo returned with a hefty-looking rucksack. He plopped this on the front desk with a clunk. “Phewf! I noticed you guys didn’t have much with you when you came. I thought it was kind of weird you were travelling on foot without any supplies, especially all the way out here in the cold. So I dug up some old camping gear.”

“Geeze, really?” Marko scratched at the back of his head. “Ya didn’t have to do that. Plus, I dunno when we’ll be able to return it.”

“No, it’s fine, really! You can keep it. Like I said, it’s old stuff, but it’s all in good shape.” Timo pushed it further across the desk. “‘ _ey_ , even if it’s not any time soon, if you’re ever back in the area, don’t be a stranger, _yah_?”

It wasn’t until they’d said their goodbyes and were back out in the cold, on the road that lead out of town, that Marko had a suspicion about Timo.

“I think he heard us talkin’ over breakfast.” He told Vuk, who was walking a couple of paces ahead of him, as he had done before. “Hence the, uh. Donation.”

“Yeah, well, the shit he gave you saves me having to find us shelter, so it works out fine.” Vuk replied, off-hand. “‘Sides, they genuinely do have friends in the rebel force, so, y’know, it’s not that big of a deal.” He grunted a bit. “Just wish you’d kept your mouth shut, just in case.”

That again? Marko huffed, “Look, I didn’t tell ‘em anythin’ like that outright. It just sorta came up. Timo wanted to talk about Peter, and about my village, and from there it was sorta impossible to avoid the truth.”

Vuk peered back over his shoulder, appearing pensive. “Peter, huh? That kid? Forgot about him. Thought he might’ve come to say goodbye to you this morning, since you saved his ass and all.”

Marko realised then that Vuk didn’t know Peter wasn’t in town. And now that he thought about it, he sort of had been, himself. He did wish he could have said goodbye to him, but he figured Peter had probably been too excited to visit his ‘uncle’ the other morning to have thought about any goodbyes to a man who was still more or less a stranger to him.

“Actually, whilst ya were asleep, Timo took Peter to stay with his uncle. So, he’s in my village right now.”

“Uh-huh.” Vuk paused, turning his head forwards again. “Probably for the best. HQ probably I.D.’d everyone in your village already. If they came here and found an Alpha, then...”

Taking a quick few looks back at the town, Marko finished the sentence in his mind: ‘If they came here and found an Alpha, then they’d probably take him and torch the place’. Whether or not that would have been the absolute case was a different matter, but Marko had made a habit of immediately thinking of the same thing happening over and over, regardless of the circumstance. Aloud, he said something quite different, “Then I don’t think they’d suspect Peter of anythin’. Actually...” He began to rack his brain for the things Timo had told him about the boy. “Peter’s not even a real Alpha. There’s a chance that the database doesn’t even have him.”

“The database has everyone born into the program. Even the Kirklands.” Vuk said. “What d’ya mean he’s ‘not a real Alpha’, though?”

“He’s a clone of one of the other Kirklands. An Omega.” He gazed down at the ground as he walked. “And so, he wasn’t really considered an Alpha or an Omega. His tattoo’s crossed out for that reason. He was born without legs or one of his arms, too.” The more he thought about it, the more pity he had for Peter. “Timo didn’t tell me much else.” Timo had, in fact, said a lot of things, but what he’d _told_ Marko was what was limited.

Vuk went quiet. He knitted his brow, like he was thinking hard about what had just been said. “Don’t think that’s enough to strike him from the database altogether. The hell, though?” He gritted his teeth, muttering, “Never heard anything about clones in the program.”

“Peter’s the only case of clonin’ in the program havin’ ever been successful.” Marko said. He shrugged a bit, then. “It kinda baffles me, too. His brother brought him out there, so one of the other Kirklands, but I don’t know why, and Timo said he didn’t know all that much either.”

“Doesn’t matter why.” Vuk spoke quickly then, almost interjecting into the end of Marko’s sentence. The fingers that were curled around the strap of his satchel tightened into a fist. His voice went as bitter as the wind, “But it doesn’t surprise me, either. The Kirklands’re scum. Kid’s lucky he got out. This’s the last place in the world I’d expect one of _them_ to be, though.”

Marko considered the Alpha’s words a couple of times. The Kirkland Dynasty conducted the program, and were therefore the ones that had dissolved it - but they had given their power and influence up in doing so. When he had departed Utopia for The North, the whereabouts of the family unit were unknown. Yet there was a hatred of them among the rebels, for their use of fellow Alphas and Omegas as weapons of war. Though the freedom had been welcomed, they were not considered liberators by any means. Their replacement of the Alphas with the automata was abrupt; it had all happened in a matter of days, with no prior warning. Rendered obsolete, the Alphas and Omegas were forced to leave the building they’d spent their lives in. They were sheltered souls, cast out into Utopia with no real knowledge or experience of how to dwell within the city itself. Most found refuge in the poorer areas of the city, where insurgents were already beginning to rise from the human populace. They banded together with the newly-released Alphas and Omegas, and created the ‘stronghold’ on the eastern edges of the capital.

Why the Kirklands had brought themselves down in this manner was a question that was still up in the air. But that they had tossed aside their own kind, almost like they were disposable objects, was what fueled their unpopularity.

By the time Marko had ended his trail of thought, he realised he didn’t really have anything to add to what Vuk had passed comment on. Since the Alpha seemed to despise the Kirklands, he decided it was better to move to a slightly different topic. He cleared his throat a bit. “So uh, what’s the stronghold like, anyway?”

“Cramped. Kind of a shithole. It’s still being built up on the vacant residences that were there to start with, and we focus most of the construction on reinforcing the actual fortifications. Half the homes don’t have roofs for that reason. Most of us share houses. Resources are sparse.” His reply was blasé, like he was reeling the details off a list in his mind, but he paused at that moment, eyeing Marko with a frown across his lips. And then his words were muttered through closed teeth, “The walls’re fifty feet high. But every day’s still spent wondering if HQ’re gonna suddenly start dropping shit on us from above. We can handle the automata, and so far, that’s all they’ve sent our way. It’s the safest place we got, but it’s still like a cage.”

 _Like a cage._  Marko still wasn’t all that thrilled about going. He gave the Alpha a sidelong glance. “S’that why ya went to the outpost? Got sick of bein’ in a ‘cage’?”

“Yeah, well, good as it is to get out, I wasn’t gonna be up here permanently.” His voice softened a little. “Usually the jobs at the outposts’re left to human rebels.”

Marko lifted an eyebrow. “Ya took it for that reason, then?”

“What, getting out? More or less.” Vuk lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “There’s three of us under one roof, and we were all heading into rut at about the same time, so I figured, I might as well get out instead of having to deal with ‘em.”

“Sounds like it’d be a pain in the ass.” Marko commented, inwardly cringing. Three Alphas living together? He wondered what the state of their house was like. They probably didn’t possess many breakable objects. “The other two, were they part of your pack, then?”

Vuk snorted, “You’re asking a hell of a lot of questions for someone who said he didn’t wanna go back to the capital.”

“Eh.” Marko rubbed at the back of his neck. He hadn’t realised he’d been bringing up constant questions until then. “I’m just tryin’ to pass the time.” Were he honest with himself, though he had been curious about the stronghold, which had initiated the thread of conversation, he was more interested in Vuk himself. He’d come out of nowhere and, save for a couple of facts, was still mostly a mystery; now that he was out of his rut phase and had become seemingly more approachable, Marko was interested in knowing who the Alpha that had once belonged to his best friend was. He had thought quite a bit about Mihai, over the previous few days, but _that_ was still a subject he thought it best to leave alone a little longer. There was also an aura he was starting to notice on the other, something that was akin to a state of irritation but didn’t seem to be down to the nature of an Alpha, or tiredness. He still couldn’t tell if this was always how Vuk was, or not.

“I live with my brothers.” Vuk said in a blunt manner, his eyes locked forwards on the route ahead. “By that I mean my brothers by blood, not from my pack. They’re younger than I am.”

So, that had been why Vuk had reacted the way he had when Peter had mentioned his own brothers, Marko supposed. For an Alpha or Omega to have more than one brother was uncommon, often due to complications during the first births. Their male bodies were not suited for bearing children, and the Omega biology had never been modified well enough to correct this. Two children sustained the number for the next generation. Some Omegas would have more, and some would have none. Marko himself was the latter - which was something that, even after moving to The North and starting afresh under a human guise - he carried with him every day of his life. He had forced himself to forget many things, but _that_ wasn’t one of them.

This time, Marko said nothing.

“You’ve gone quiet, now.” Vuk muttered.

Marko half-mumbled a response, “Yeah I uh. I was just thinkin’ how uncommon that was. Three of ya, and all Alphas, too.” After a brief pause, he added, “Must drive ya crazy, but you’re probably pretty close too, right?”

“You could say that. I mean, we didn’t live together in the program, so blood’s the only thing that relates us.” He snorted then, shaking his head, his tone of voice changing to a much sharper one. “The hell’m I doing, telling you all this shit about me when you’re not sharing anything yourself?”

“Fillin’ the silence.” Marko replied. Wondering if he’d crossed a boundary somehow, he added, “It’s just. It’s been a while since I met another one of us.” He paused. “But I don’t mind if ya wanna ask me somethin’, too.”

Their footsteps cracking against the snow-packed trail was all that could be heard for the next few prolonged moments. Anticipating a response from the other, Marko kept his ears open, but his gaze away from Vuk, trained on the grey-tinted sky above the horizon. There was nothing but trees and the open road ahead in view. He wondered if the town’s perimetres would be out of sight soon if he cast a glance backwards.

After his thinking time was up, Vuk came to a sudden halt. His body seemed to tense a little before he spoke again, “Why’re you here?”

Finding the question more than a little absurd, Marko answered, standing a small distance from the other, “‘Cause _you_ brought me here?”

“No.” The single word that left the Alpha’s mouth almost came as an interruption. He inhaled a deep breath and then whipped around to face Marko, expression hardened. “No, _you idiot_. _You_ came out here _yourself._ ” His voice was strained, then, like he was trying his best not to raise his voice, and his back straightened, so that he rose closer to Marko’s height; the same kind of intimidation tactic he’d pulled the last time he’d gotten in his face like that. “You started taking suppressants. You’ve lived life like an ordinary person. I wanna know why.”

But Marko had never told anyone _why_ before - not aloud, at least. Who had there been that he could confide in? Erzsébet knew, but she knew only because she had been there at the time, and even then, she had been the one to constantly nag at him to return to the capital. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand _why_ , it was that she’d always thought she knew what was best for him - and Vuk was already in the process of carrying that out. There was no way back, now; no way he could give his reasoning and hope it would change the Alpha’s mind. All he could do was answer, and then perhaps the other would keep on walking and say nothing more.

His eyes searched Vuk’s face, and he did his best to remain unwavered by the sudden shift in the other’s attitude. “I made a rash decision.” He admitted to that, because it was the truth. “I thought that I wanted to be alone, and away from the life I’d had in the capital. So I went as far away as possible.”

“ _Why_?” Vuk pressed.

Marko sucked a breath in. “I lost my Alpha, four months before the program ended.” Saying it aloud still left him with a sore feeling in the pit of his chest. Accepting that he’d never get over the pain had been reassurance enough to move on, but that had been years ago, now. Even if he’d told Vuk once already that he’d lost his Alpha, he hadn’t elaborated. “He was on the front line, in The South. The enemy line of fire triggered the bomb on his chest. They brought his hand back to me, wrapped in a cloth. It was the only part of him they could recover.” The more he spoke, the more the pain was starting to twist into an irritation. Vuk’s stare was vacant; his expression didn’t falter once, despite what he was being told. “I miscarried, ‘cause of it. Spent the next four months isolated at our ‘home’, alone. Never got reassigned, not that I wanted to be.” He clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into the palms. “Soon as the program was dissolved, I wanted to forget. I came here, to The North. Changed my name, told the village I was displaced. I started to live a normal life. But I never forgot. Couldn’t ever get it outta my head. Didn’t change the fact I wanted to stay away from the capital, though. So I never went back.”

Vuk, silent for a few moments, kept his eyes locked on Marko. He then shook his head, and turned away, starting to walk again. It was impossible to know what he thought of that answer, until he spoke again, “You selfish fuck.” He sounded somewhere between angered and exasperated.

“Yeah, s’exactly what I am.” Marko responded in a monotone. He stepped after him. Was that really all Vuk had to say to that? “S’all Erzsébet’s been tellin’ me for the past few years. That I did it without considerin’ what was gonna be the best for me in the long term, that it was pressure on her to have to keep comin’ out here to help me. That the capital needs me, and that I need the capital. But, y’know what? I never cared that it was selfish.” That was something he was prepared to admit to, but still, it felt odd to do so. He continued, the words leaving his mouth without him really considering them beforehand, “So, even though I’m comin’ with ya now, when everythin’s blown over, I’ll go back to livin' in solidarity, and act like none of this ever happened.”

Vuk gave no response. He didn’t speak again for a long time.

The fallen snow crunched under their feet as they trekked along the ongoing route. The sun hung behind the grey clouds, but it was a milder day than the ones before it, with no thickness in the air that threatened oncoming flurries, and no bitter wind to pinch at exposed skin. A few miles in and Vuk veered off the road, stepping into the woodland that bordered the track to their right. Marko recalled him mentioning that they were going to step off the road over breakfast. Walking without exchanging words again made that conversation seem like it had taken place days ago; like they had been walking for much longer than a few hours.

All the while, Marko had little to entertain his mind with, except perhaps decoding the reaction he’d gotten from Vuk before. He hadn’t told the Alpha anything expecting him to understand, but that wasn’t what confused him. If Vuk thought he was selfish, it was probably for a different reason than Erzsébet did. Marko depended on Erzsébet travelling to The North to bring him medical supplies, his suppressants among them; she had wanted him to return to the capital so she wouldn’t have to do so anymore - at least, that was how Marko saw it. It was understandable she’d get tired of it. Why Vuk had reacted the way he had, as well as giving him the silent treatment afterwards, seemed to be frustration with what he’d been told then and there - but then, he had been annoyed with the idea that there was an Omega living alone out in The North in the first place.

A heavy scent of pine hung throughout the woodland, the highest branches of the thick-trunked trees forming a darkened canopy. Still unsure of Vuk’s intentions, Marko wondered if they were going to spend the night in another clearing - or perhaps they’d stick closer to what he’d said and make camp under the shielding the forest granted them. It was hard to know what someone walking a few steps ahead and never speaking was thinking.

Engrossed in his thoughts, it took Marko a moment to realise that Vuk had stopped walking, when he did. Keeping a few paces distance, he raised an eyebrow, wondering why, this time.

“I’m gonna take a look ‘round.” Vuk mumbled, continuing onwards. “Sit down and stay here.”

 _How long have we been going?_ , Marko asked himself. He was starting to get tired, and a soreness had formed in his tendons, but he had decided against bringing it up. The trees seemed to go on as far as the eye could see, all around them. Taking a seat on the forest floor, his legs outstretched in front of him and the rucksack dropped from his shoulder, he watched as Vuk’s figure disappeared into the shadows.

_Now what?_

He had assumed Vuk had known which way they were going. Had he gotten them lost? Once again, it was hard to tell. What was there even to look around at? Was there anything nearby that could point out their location? He realised then how much trust he’d actually been putting into that one man. He’d spoken confidently about their path to the capital, so Marko hadn’t really any reason to doubt him. Not until that moment, when he started thinking he probably should have.

Quiet fell over the area. Flecks of the sky were visible, just barely, through the tips of the looming trees. Peaceful as it was, the wait for Vuk to return was a slow one - Marko was surprised to find himself wishing they were back walking in silence after a while. He rested his back against a tree, having to shift a few times before the hard bark was somewhat comfortable. Watching the flickering light above lulled him into a weary state, and made his eyelids start to droop.

Crack.

He didn’t jump, or move at all, though the noise seemed to come from nowhere. _Must’ve been a falling branch._ It didn’t sound like anything else.

Everything was still.

And then his heart shot into his throat.

He didn’t have time to comprehend what was happening. All he knew was he was struggling, a tight arm restraining him; he pulled on it, nails digging into the rough material of its sleeve, and grunted aloud, but his face was covered by a hand - and a cloth; a sweet-smelling, slightly damp cloth. Unable to hold his breath, he wanted to gag, but his limbs were starting to loosen and his head was starting to become light.

One very prominent word came to mind: _shit._

The dancing lights between the trees became a blur that faded in front of his eyes. He heard a muddled voice, but it wasn’t familiar; it disappeared, like the forest and the last of the sensation in his body. Darkness fell.

 


	6. Chapter 6

A soft yet persistent dripping sound and the foisty scent of damp brought Marko out of his unconscious state. He woke to a nasty ache in his body that stretched from the back of his neck to the tips of his ankles. A cold, hard stone floor was beneath him; laid atop it, his stomach was down and his head turned to one side. A shiver passed through his discomforted bones, before he let his eyes crack open.

Where was he now? What exactly had just happened? Where was Vuk?

Whilst still in the process of fully rousing and shuffling into a more upright position, he took a few hazy glances around. His surroundings were dim. He squinted, finding a source of light some distance away. There was no cool breeze, no fresh smell of pine or snow, and the dripping noise he was hearing had a faint echo to it. He was indoors - somewhere. Whether or not he was a long way from the forest, or even from The North, he didn't know. Sitting up, he put his weight onto his left arm - a bad idea, as it suddenly swelled with pain. Grabbing it with his right hand, he hissed. It didn’t feel broken or sprained at all, but he’d fallen onto it and hurt it no less.

Aside from his body aching, his mind was still a little fuzzy as well. There was a sharp sensation prodding at his skull between his eyebrows and a metallic taste in his mouth. The fleeting memory of the arm that had suddenly restrained him and the cloth pressed to his nose and mouth sprung forth and flashed before him. It had all happened in a matter of moments: he’d been drugged, there was no question about that - but why? And why had he let his guard down so readily, allowing it to happen at all? The notion, and the question it brought with it, made him apprehensive. Gut lurching, he keeled over, supporting himself with his uninjured elbow as he gagged, coughing and wheezing in short bursts until he was convinced he wasn't going to vomit.

 _Pull it together_ , he told himself, wincing and trying to shake the wariness off. He started to look around again, eyes adjusting with the light that broke through a small window-like hatch on a far wall. It became clear then that there were bars obscuring his vision. Thin, vertical, iron bars; two sides of which, that met at one corner and ran towards each wall. _A cell?_ His mind went straight to the idea that HQ had found him. But, it couldn’t have been them, he rationalised: drugging, particularly the way it had been administered to him, was not something they - the lawmakers - ever did; they preferred forced compliance through fear mongering. Marko knew such things from experience. Whoever was responsible had their own methods, if compliance was even among their intentions. Their mystery alone made them dangerous, but that was not all.

Marko put that thought on hold when he realised that the bars in front of him were not a wall, but a divider; there was another cell beyond, and the light from outside seeped down into there. He focused on the far end, below the small window, as there was a darker spot that caught his attention there. He shuffled closer to the bars, pressing his face into one of the gaps and peering through until he was able to make out that the dark spot was, in fact, a figure. Upon further inspection, he saw they were shackled to the wall, arms either side of their head, their legs sprawled in front of them, and from what he could make out, they were blindfolded, too. But they were also identifiable, based on a couple of features including their clothes - specifically, the off-white gym shoes. Tensing up when he realised, Marko swore beneath his breath. The sense of dread crept back over him. _Him, too?_

“Vuk!” He whispered loudly at first, as he wasn’t sure if anyone else was in earshot. No response. He didn’t even know if the Alpha was even conscious; his body was very still. Marko licked over his chapped lips and tried again, voice clear this time, “Vuk!”

There was a grunt, and the sound of metal clunking. Vuk’s form moved; he looked to be thrashing, albeit not with much force, against the shackling. Narrowing his eyes, Marko searched the shadows over Vuk’s countenance. He wasn’t certain, but he appeared to have been gagged, as well.

He wasn’t in rut. There was no way he could break free on his own. Vuk, who had run rings around HQ the night he'd met him, was immobilised.  _Don’t worry, just stop and think,_ Marko told himself, moving away from the bars and swallowing down the dryness that had formed in his mouth. But it was hard not to be concerned. The cell had a door, but no doubt it was locked. There was no way out, not from there.

Vuk made another throaty noise as he tugged on the restraints to no avail again. Bringing his knees up to his chest and leaning over them, Marko glanced the Alpha’s way, unsure of if he was trying to communicate with him or not. Whoever had caught them both must have struggled with Vuk to the point where they’d needed to restrain him like that, even if he wasn’t rutting. It was more than a little disheartening to think about, but the bigger question was still _why_ \- why the both of them?

Another glance about and Marko jumped when he saw a tiny figure just beyond the front of the cell. A young boy, by the looks of it - younger than Peter, even. Marko had to blink a couple of times to make sure his eyes weren’t just playing tricks on him in the poor lighting, but no, there really was a child there; dark-haired and bare-footed, wearing a tattered man’s shirt as if it were a tunic, with his fingers wrapped around the cell bars. No way in hell could he have been their captor - he was too tiny and thin, and looked disheveled enough to have been down in that place for much longer than they had.

But his presence only added to the confusion. Had Marko not known better, he would've thought all of this to have been some kind of crazy hallucination. He wanted to pinch himself to check, but his body had seized up.

“Hello?” Marko attempted to speak to the boy, with caution.

No response. The light from the window glinted in boy’s big, wide eyes.

Marko regained his movement and shuffled a little closer to him. He could only assume the boy was also captive; all there was that told him otherwise was the fact he was on the other side of the cell door. “What’re ya doin’ here? Where are we? Do you know?”

Though again the boy said nothing, a creaking noise caught Marko’s attention a few moments later, and a thin slit of pale light appeared opposite the cells; it then cascaded down and marked out a fleet of wooden stairs, a doorway at the top of them, within which stood shaded outlines that soon began to move. Quick footsteps pressed against the groaning steps, bulkier ones following. The sudden brightness from beyond the door hurt Marko’s eyes, and he clenched them shut upon instinct.

He didn't dare hope that the arrival of the newcomers bode well, that perhaps they weren't the captors and had come to free them. He soon found he was right about that.

“Look what it is!” A grating voice, gasping in amazement, spoke from beyond the bars. “I nearly didn’t believe the boss when he said it - but it’s really one of them!” It carried an accent that wasn't of Utopian origin, one with unusually long, pronounced 'i's, though its owner didn't falter with the language. Southerners in The North were uncommon, but not uncanny.

Peering upwards, Marko caught sight of a raggedy-looking man, thin and tall, young-looking but unkempt, stood next to the boy with his hands wrapped around the frontal bars, a discomforting look of astoundment in his bulging eyes as he gazed intently straight at him.

Frowning, Marko spoke as he pulled himself to his feet, a sudden boldness swelling within him, washing away his apprehension. “What's goin’ on? Where the hell are we!?”

The man pressed his face into a bar gap. Despite the safe distance the cell provided, Marko took an instinctive step back.

“It talked!” Astonished, he turned his head to the side. In spite of his appearance the way he spoke was akin to that of an excitable child, “Is it educated? Do those ones sell for more?”

The manner in which he was being stared at was already uncomfortable; but those words sunk straight into the pit of dread in Marko’s stomach.

“He’s an Omega.” A gruff response came from the larger man (whose accent, unlike the other's was local) standing near the staircase. “Not a Goddamned parrot.”

“A _real life, mature_ Omega.” The raggedy man ran his tongue over his bottom lip, staring through again like he was observing an exhibit. _Is that what this is?_ Marko thought it lucky the bars were between them. The surge of anger he felt would have caused him to lurch at the man otherwise. “Where’s the key?” His head whipped towards his associate again with a look of desperation. “The boss said I could--”

“Yeah, yeah, hold your damned horses.” After stepping towards the cell door, the larger man pulled a set of keys off his belt. The lock clicked as it was turned, and Marko shuffled further backwards, until he felt the cold wall behind him.

‘The boss’ had said what? What were they going to do? His pulse began to race, as he eyed the two men with caution. They were both armed - small pistols hung in holsters at their hips, but, they weren’t going to shoot him, were they? If they were, they’d have done it already. ‘Is it educated? Do those ones sell for more?’... The words repeated over in his mind. Were they people traffickers? Was he going to be sold on?

He clenched his hands into fists, sure that he’d rather die than let that happen. Yet, what was more important was what they wanted from him then and there.

Marko glanced towards Vuk’s immobilised body, then at the young boy, then between the approaching men. He wanted to tell them to get back, to stay away, but the words wouldn’t come. The larger of the two stepped across the cell, clearing the space quickly, and extended a muscular arm, grabbing Marko by the front of his shirt (what had happened to his coat?) and yanking him off the wall. Marko stumbled, attempting to resist being pulled around but it proved useless to do so, and then the man moved into the space behind him, hooking his arms underneath Marko’s before he had any opportunity to even try to move away, locking him in place. Gritting his teeth, he struggled, wriggling against the hold in sharp jerks.

“The fuck’re ya doin’!?” He hissed.

Moving towards them, the raggedy man drew in a breath, his moistened lips spreading into a lopsided smirk. Firm and cold, he muttered slowly, as if Marko was having difficulty understanding him, “Don't worry, Omega - I'll be careful.”

Marko tensed up. His limbs were weakened and his legs almost threatened to give out. The feeling of vulnerability, of fear - it was real and it was strong. This wasn’t a time that he could suppress it. He grit his teeth, his eyes watching as the man in front, a ravenous look on his face, lowered his hands. Vuk’s restraints clattered again.

 _There’s a kid back there,_  Marko thought; in spite of this, he didn’t look towards the front of the cell again. “You guys’re sick.” He grunted.

Though the raggedy man didn’t reply, his breath was getting shorter, heavier and louder. Wasting little time, he began to unfasten the buckle on Marko’s belt.

“He won’t be slicked up.” The larger man said, tone remarkably humdrum.

“I can go in dry.” Was the response. At that, Marko writhed again, attempting to knee the man in front. “Whoa!” The raggedy man’s eyebrows lifted as he moved back, avoiding the hit.

“I kill ya if y’even try.” Another streak of bravery made itself known, even if he was starting to shake a little. Grimacing, Marko glowered at the man, who moved back into place, seeming to ignore his words. He wasn’t bluffing, though - the fear began to twist into anger, his hands balling into fists. The man pulled his belt apart, and then the button beneath it. _Shit_. Marko thrashed again. “I swear, I’ll kill ya!”

A moment later and the disgust became too much. He couldn’t bear to look at the raggedy man any longer, and so clenched his eyes shut as he felt the zip of his pants being tugged down, and then, fingers hooked in the elastic of his underwear.

There seemed to be a pause, with some hesitation. The larger man spoke up, his voice thick with a sudden confusion, “Ion, what are you--”

The room echoed with a loud bang - and a splattering noise followed. Marko’s eyes shot open. The raggedy man had stalled, his head beginning to turn as the larger man’s arms loosened, his weight dropping away with a thud against the back wall.

Both Marko and the man in front moved their gaze to the figure of the boy, stood with his hands raised in front of him, holding a smoking pistol between them - a tell-tale empty slot now where the weapon had been now lay at the man’s hip.

For those few seconds, time seemed to have slowed tenfold. Marko almost didn’t believe what he was seeing. His heart was in his throat.

“I-Ion!” The raggedy man lifted his hands as the boy turned towards him. Amazingly, both of them looked just as terrified as the other. “Ion you...” His words squeaked out, and he shuffled a step towards the child, who then backed up, the gun almost slipping from his hold.

When Marko shifted from the spot the larger man’s body slumped down to the floor. There was a smear of blood on the wall, and he could feel a small amount on the back of his neck. Unpleasant, and that was without considering the fact that if the boy’s aim had been a little off, _he himself_ would be the one toppling over dead. He shivered at the thought, fixing his pants as fast as he could whilst eyeing the boy, who was still moving backwards as he was approached.

The raggedy man was laughing nervously. “C’mon, kid, j-just put it down! We can cover up that guy’s death, we’ll tell the boss it was an accident! He won’t care about the loss of one big old oaf of an Alpha, will he? Ion. Ion!”

 _Ion._  The name was starting to repeat itself in Marko’s mind. Where had he heard it before?

The second the boy’s trembling hands dropped the pistol, Marko crouched to the larger man’s corpse; judging by the position of the stain on the wall, he’d been shot straight through the head, so it wasn’t worth checking for any signs of life.

“That’s right, Ion. You’re a good boy, yeah? Let’s--”

Marko, without wanting to waste another moment of time, thrust the larger man’s pistol from its socket and, before the spoken sentence was over, aimed, clicked the safety and pulled the trigger. He’d missed his target; the man cried out and grabbed at the side of his neck, blood seeping through his fingers and out of his mouth in a cough. He staggered and turned his head again, an apprehensive look on his face as he watched Marko rise to his feet again, the gun still outstretched.

The next shot racked through him; it hit his shoulder and made him stumble backwards. But still, it was not enough. Though the man screamed aloud, Marko aimed again, eyes focusing in the darkness. What the man had tried to do to him, not even half a minute before, was at the forefront of his mind. _I’ll kill ya_ , he had said. There was no going back now.

 _Bang_. Blood and brains sloshed against the bars of the cell.

A shaken breath fell from his lips. He flicked the safety bolt back, and placed the pistol gingerly in his pocket, barrel-down. Two men. Two grown men - he and a young boy had just taken two grown men down. He almost didn’t believe it. How long had it been since he’d handled a gun last? Years, he guessed. Even on the battlefield, he’d acted as a medic, never in immediate action on the front line himself. It felt more than a little bizarre.

Turning his attention to the boy, he saw that he was hugging his arms around himself, eyes staring down at the gun he’d discarded. Marko took a moment to recuperate, before he moved towards him.

“Ion. S’that your name?” He asked. It was too much for his brain to even attempt to remember where he’d heard it before, right at that moment. But if he knew one thing, it was that Ion wasn’t a common name.

The boy didn’t answer. Was he traumatised, after what had just happened? Marko didn’t blame him. But he also couldn’t wait around for a reply, he realised. His own cell door had been unlocked; he recalled that it was the larger man who possessed the keys. He searched over said man’s body, heaving the weight up to do so, which was difficult in the darkness. Soon after, he pulled the ring of keys out of the man’s belt. Once they were in his possession, he headed for the ajar door of the cell. But, he paused, just as he was about to step over the body of the raggedy man. Instead, feeling a spark of anger throughout him again, he kicked it aside and out of his path with a single grunt.

Once out of his cell, he went straight to the door of Vuk’s, trying the few keys on the ring in the lock, fumbling with them because his hands were sweating and still a little unsteady. But one went in cleanly and twisted in the lock. He darted straight through the open door and to the Alpha’s immobile form. Vuk pulled on the restraints again when he sensed the movement.

“It’s me.” Marko said, crouching by him. Spying the padlock on the metal bar binding his hands, he lifted its base towards him, testing the smaller keys. None seemed to fit. He tried again. Was it because of his unsteadiness? “Ghh.”

The keys almost slipped from his hold when he heard a voice yelling at the door above the steps, “ _HEY!_ We can hear the screaming up here! The boss says if you break the Omega, he’ll be breakin’ your legs, so be careful, ya idiots!!”

Marko’s blood ran cold. He still didn’t know who these people were, or why they wanted  _him._  A ‘mature Omega’? Was there a part of the world where, somehow, men of his type were prized?

He eyed the light at the top of the stairs; a shadow passed it, signalling that whoever had been up there had now gone. Given the time between the noise and the time it had taken for them to call down, there wasn’t anyone on guard up there. They’d probably assumed it would be impossible, with Vuk bound like that, for either of them to get out. And, if it hadn’t been for Ion, that really would have been the case.

“None of ‘em fit.” Marko tucked the keys away into his pocket with the gun. “The gag’s a standard issue one from HQ, too, by the looks of it. They come with a switch to unlock ‘em.” He added in a mutter, frowning. As if he needed anything adding to his frustrations. The only thing he could get off was the blindfold, which was nothing but a piece of cloth, knotted at the back. He reached behind Vuk’s head and fiddled with the tie until it came loose.

The Alpha avoided making eye contact with him, once the blindfold was cast off. He stared towards the side instead.

“I’ll get ya out. Just, gimme a little longer to find the keys and the switch, yeah?” He didn’t want to just up and leave him, but it seemed like it had to be done. After rising back up, Marko began to head back out of the cell. His fingers trailed back down to the pistol in his pocket. That larger man had been an Alpha, according to his associate, but Ion had taken care of him with a single shot. Whoever else was up there, they were surely nothing but flesh and blood, also. As long as he was quick, as long as he didn’t ever let them have a fair warning, he could do it - he could pull it off.

He didn’t have a choice. He had to get out of there. _They_ had to get out of there.

 _But, how did they know what I am?_ \- he had to hold that thought, as Ion tugged on the hem of his shirt. He peered down at the boy.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Though he hadn’t a clue who Ion was, the boy had helped, despite the fact he’d been on the other side of the cells. Was he captive, too?

Ion poked his finger in the direction of the door at the top of the stairs, and then at himself.

It took Marko a moment to understand. “Ya wanna go, instead?”

The boy nodded, briskly.

“Is it safe for ya? No one’ll get suspicious, will they?”

His head shook, that time.

Marko felt reluctant, but if Ion had been aligned with them, then it seemed like the easier option. And if nothing else, the boy already proven his skill with sneaking around.

“Be careful, yeah? I’ll stay by the door.” He faked a half-smile. “Call for me, if you need help, yeah? I’m Marko.”

Without reacting to that, Ion scuttled off up the stairs, looking back once before disappearing through the door. Breathing out a sigh, Marko began to climb the same steps as well, ducking down below the top step and peering out into the room beyond.

It was an empty, wood-floored, plain-walled hallway. Pale light streamed in from a side window. Everything was surprisingly still and quiet. He could hear his heart thudding.

As time passed, he was starting to regret the decision to let Ion go. It wasn’t necessarily that he was taking a long time, but more the fact that he wasn’t sure just waiting from the door was going to be enough. The coast seemed clear, and he was armed. Ears open, Marko lifted off the steps and slipped the door open, shuffling across the threshold on his knees. He almost called back over his shoulder to Vuk, but then decided it wasn’t such a good idea.

_Sorry, Vuk, just hold on. I’ll be back._

Once stood up again, Marko crept across the hallway, more than careful of the croaks certain floorboards made. He winced each time he came across one, but pressed on nonetheless; there was no movement that seemed to indicate another presence.

At the end of the hallway was an arched, doorless entrance to a larger room beyond. It seemed that said room was also empty, but Marko hid himself on the wall next to the arch and slipped his head around to double-check. Though there was no furniture or anything similar, what he saw, on the left-hand wall of the room, was certainly _not_ nothing.

Seated, not unlike how Vuk was back down in the cells, with its legs outstretched and head hung, was a giant metal figure - it resembled the automata, Marko thought, with its long ‘face’ encasing its single scanner unit - until he realised that an automata was _exactly_ what it was. Its back took up the entire length of the room’s wall, and it was hunched over. Regular automata were seven foot tall, but this one, for some reason, looked to be at least nine, perhaps ten foot.

His breath hitched; seeing an automata, even like that, was harrowing - and for it to have been in a place like that made it worse. Marko could only wonder what the hell one of them was doing there, if that place was some kind of hideout for a trafficking ring. It was deactivated, though; its scanner unit wasn’t lit. Was it broken? Perhaps the ring had hoarded it for scrap metal. HQ couldn’t be involved with petty thugs like them, surely?

He thought of what he’d done only a few days before.  _It can’t be because of that_ , he assured himself. Whatever the reason, it was plain weird to see.

One thing he was happier to see, though, was the rucksack that Timo had given him, lying in the far corner, beyond the automata’s shell. With it was Vuk’s satchel, and their coats. They weren’t the key and the switch, but they were still worth getting back, he figured. His pulse quickened as he eyed the automata again. With great caution, he began to pace across the room.

His gaze was trained on the robot. Without higher command, if it was even still working, it wouldn’t activate. _Inferior, they’re inferior to us._ Biting on the inside of his lip, Marko hopped over to the pile of items, letting out a sigh of relief when he’d made it across. A quick look around the room showed that the other two walls had solid doors on them - so Ion must have disappeared through one of those. It didn’t look like either of them were a front or back door, so neither could have been the exit.

After putting his coat back on, he heard something slip and clunk on the floor near his feet. Freezing up, he watched the automata for a moment, until he was sure it wasn’t going to respond to that. Then, he cast his eyes to the floor.

It was his medication. Upon impulse, he patted the breast pocket of his shirt. It was empty. He’d gotten so used to knowing where it was nowadays that it seemed he didn’t notice when it was gone. Chiding himself mentally for it, he bent down to pick it up. So that was how they knew he was an Omega, then? The suppressants? He almost lifted his sleeve to check that, but realised that he couldn’t dawdle. Once he’d placed the little packet back in the pocket where it belonged, he threw the rucksack over his shoulder, and tucked Vuk’s things under his arm. And then, he shot back across the room and through the arch, without a single look back.

Glancing out of the hallway window briefly as he passed, Marko saw the same tightly-knit pine trees that made up the forest they’d been heading through outside. So, they weren’t too far from their original location, then. They must have been in some kind of isolated cabin, fitted out for the thugs to use. Perhaps Vuk would know.

Returning to the cell room, he stepped back down the stairs and towards the Alpha, leaving the recovered belongings near him.

“Sorry, I went without sayin’ anythin’.” He mumbled. Vuk still wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Had he made him mad again, somehow? Marko tried not to think about it, for the time being.

He opened his mouth to say he’d be right back again, but then, an audible voice from the room above cut him off.

“Tryin’a steal the boss’s stuff, huh, were ya? A few days down there with our ‘guests’ll set ya right.”

Marko seized up. Had Ion he failed, after all? His fingers brushed the pistol’s handle.

Footsteps pattered on the staircase, pausing midway. “Hnh?” The same deep voice grunted. “The hell? What’s goin’ on ‘ere?”

Mustering courage again Marko’s fingers wrapped around the gun and he pulled it out, heading for the silhouette that stood against the light from the doorway. Indeed, a squirming Ion was hooked under this man’s arm. Without hesitation, Marko raised the pistol.

“ _You_ tell _me_. Who _are_ ya? What is this place?”

The man paused; he must have loosened his hold, because Ion dropped away from him and tumbled down the steps at that moment. Marko winced inwardly.

“Wh-Whaddya mean ‘what are we’!?” Came the spluttered answer.

After sucking in a breath through his nose, Marko pressed, “Tell me.” He flicked the bolt. “Safety’s off. Killed your friends already. Might let _you_ go if ya answer me.”

“We’re just thugs, y’know!? Nothin’ special, just ordinary, run-of-the-mill criminals!” The way that was said wasn’t very convincing.

Marko slid his finger onto the trigger. “What were ya gonna do with me? Sell me?”

“Y-Yes--”

The anger surged once more at the answer, and before he could think about what he was doing, he’d fired, hitting the man in the middle of the chest with a loud crack. Over the man’s gurgles and groans, he began to raise his voice, “Pieces of shit _TELL ME WHAT’S GOIN’ ON!_ ”

Losing his footing, the man slipped on the steps, though he didn’t fall down them all the way. He clutched at his chest and yelled at the top of his lungs, “THE OMEGA’S ESCAPIN’!! GET DOWN ‘ERE, ‘FORE HE GETS OU--”

 _Bang, bang, bang._ Silence. Marko tried to pull the trigger again, but a dull click followed. The magazine was empty. But it had done its job; the man was no longer moving. Whether his last outcry had been heard or not, that was the issue now.

After tossing the pistol to the floor, Marko looked towards Ion, who had hopped towards him and was motioning to the sleeve of the shirt he was wearing, which was much longer than his arm itself. From it, he pulled out a single key.

Something akin to hope, or relief, flickered inside Marko’s chest. He breathed out, “That’s definitely it?”

Ion nodded, handing it over. Marko went straight back to Vuk.

“What about the switch for the gag? Couldn’t ya find that?” He slipped the key into the lock. It turned perfectly, releasing the metal. Vuk’s arms dropped down, and he rubbed at his wrists for a moment - before he rose straight to his feet, heading for the cell door, his steps heavy, his shoulders tensed. Before Marko knew it, he was throwing the body on the stairs out of the way so he could climb them.

 _Shit_ , Marko thought. “What’s he doin’?” He whispered to himself, heading after the Alpha. “Wait!” Vuk wasn’t in rut, so him charging through any oncoming thugs didn’t bode well. Was he even armed? Marko hadn’t seen his knife with the other belongings, so perhaps it had been taken somewhere else. Grumbling in annoyance, he headed back into the hallway. “Idiot.”

Vuk was already beyond the arch, and had passed the automata without stopping to consider its presence, so it seemed. Marko had to dash to catch up to him, and only managed at the point when Vuk was about to throw open the wide doors opposite the arch.

It was impossible to stop him. Swearing in a whisper, Marko stopped dead in his tracks, a yard in front of the automata’s feet. Vuk almost tore the doors off their hinges.

Beyond was a sitting room. Various chairs, a worn-out couch, a table in the middle, and a smouldering fireplace on the far wall that signalled someone had been using the room very recently. But, it was just as empty as the hallways. Eyeing the dying fire, Marko thought it unnerving. His eyes scanned what he could see of the interior, but he refrained from entering - unlike Vuk, who stepped straight in once he’d opened the way.

Following a yell, a man sprung off the inside wall, next to the doors, launching himself at Vuk and grabbing him from behind. Marko realised then, as more appeared - they’d been hiding there, in the blindspot. He jolted forwards, watching as Vuk struggled against the man’s grasp. _Now, act now,_ Marko told himself, despite the fact that he was almost ready to turn in the other direction and run. He remembered the feeling of bravery, the adrenaline rush that had gotten him - _them both_ \- this far. His fingers felt for the gun as if he’d never spent the last bullets - if only he’d brought the other!

He had to make do. He lowered his head, and sped forwards. Whether it would work or not was irrelevant to him - it was the only thing he could do, at that point. Crossing the threshold, he landed a headbutt into the thug’s ribs, knocking the wind from him. Vuk took the opportunity to pull himself free, and he shot past the others that were starting to crowd around before they realised what had happened.

Marko tumbled to the floor with the man; they both fell with considerable thumps. There were at least a dozen of the men altogether, and at once they all started to shout, scampering about and trying to grab ahold of Vuk again. Grimacing with the pain that the impact and the fall had brought upon him, Marko shifted and tried to stand, but was brought to his feet by a strong hand that had twisted in the back of his coat.

And then, his arms were restrained, in the same upward way they had been before. This time, instead of trying to resist, he tried to make sense of the chaos that was happening around. Chairs were being upturned and flung about; the thugs were running amok over the furnishings. Amongst the yelling voices, a prevalent one shouted and cut across the rest, “WAKE THE AUTOMATA!!”

One of the men turned towards the arch. It wasn’t obvious as to whether he was the ‘boss’ or not, but he took something from his pocket and motioned in that direction with it. Marko was forced to move along with the thug that had hold of him, away from said arch. So that colossal automata  _was_ just dormant, after all. Why did _they_ have possession of such a weapon - and, more importantly, what was it going to do once they woke it up? He didn’t dare to think, but he was soon going to find out.

Its red scanner light blinking, the metal limbs of the machine ground against one another as it shuffled into a hunched position, sticking its headpiece through the arch. The beam of light that protruded from the scanner drifted back and forth across the room, stopping when it got to Marko.

He held his breath, and his nerve, as it seemed to process his information.

“NOT HIM!!” Came a shriek. “THIS ONE!! OVER HERE, YA STUPID PIECE OF METAL CRAP!!”

Vuk appeared from behind the couch, and the light fell on him. He didn’t seem to care much, though; he was in the process of lifting a nearby chair and smashing it over one of the thugs’ heads.

The automata’s light dimmed. It paused for quite some time, not moving from the spot. A few of the passing men looked confused, and even stopped to stare and consider what might have been up with it.

When its voice finally came out, it was the same drone as the regular automata, but far more booming - it shook through the walls and floor of the room. “ **VUK MIŠIĆ. ALPHA.** ” Another wait. Normally they spat out the information in a prompt fashion. Was this automata slow, or was it because it had only just roused? Marko didn’t know - nor did he suppose he cared, right then. “ **AGE, TWENTY-FIVE YEARS, TEN MONTHS, TWELVE DAYS. HEIGHT ONE-EIGHT-THREE. WEIGHT, NINE-TWO.** ”

Watching Vuk now, Marko saw him grabbing for something in the possession of the man he’d thwarted with the chair. He then thrust his fist into the stomach of an oncoming man, turning it and letting a stream blood cascade out as said man roared in pain. Had he found his knife? He couldn’t keep his eyes on him, though, because the lingering threat of the automata seemed more important. The machine wasn’t armed with a weapon, though, so what was it going to do? Nothing at all, perhaps, because it seemed to be stalling again.

“ **SUBJECT IS NOT A THREAT.** ” It thundered. “ **SUBJECT IS NOT A THREAT.** ” The arch cracked as its hand began to reach inside the room. “ **SUBJECT IS NOT A THREAT.** ” Over and over, it repeated those words, to the disbelief of the thugs. From the top of its arm, a small cannon-like chute lifted; it aimed this at the far wall, and shot. Wood, plaster, and sparks flew, littering across the room. A few of the men had to jump down, or shield their eyes, to avoid the damage. The shockwaves from the blast made the room shake so much that the man restraining Marko lost his balance; he pulled himself free, hurtling across the room towards Vuk.

The automata really was broken - in what seemed like a remarkable stroke of luck.

“ **SUBJECT IS NOT A THREAT. SUBJECT IS NOT A THREAT. SUBJECT IS NOT A THREAT.** ”

With no more men scrambling for him just then, Vuk stared across at the automata. The look in his eyes showed he was just as confused as the rest of them. In the archway, squeezing past the automata’s form, Ion appeared again, carrying everything that had been left in the cell with him, which was blatantly too much for him to keep ahold of. One of the thugs spotted the boy, and made a grab for him, calling out something about a ‘traitor’. Concerned for Ion, Marko moved back around without thinking, jumping over the back of a broken chair. The boy slipped past as he moved between the two of them, throwing a punch at the man’s jaw and propelling him backwards into one of his comrades.

The entire scene was a mess, and Marko couldn’t make much sense of it; all he knew was that the thugs had started to let their guard down when the automata’s fault had started to become apparent. He grabbed Ion under one arm and threw the rucksack over the shoulder of the other, heading for the hole the automata had made in the wall, where outdoor light was seeping in. If Marko didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the automata had helped them escape.

He stopped again, turning his head to see that Vuk still had his eyes fixated on the machine. In Marko’s peripheral vision then, he caught sight of a man near to the automata’s crouched knees, loading a magazine into a pistol. And then he aimed towards the couch. Marko’s heart leapt up into his throat. _Oh God._

“VUK - _MOVE!!_ ”

He did - just barely. A single shot rang out. Vuk staggered a bit, before getting his footing back. Turning back around, Marko ran at the new exit, and the snow and pine trees waiting beyond. That was it. They were out. They’d done it - they were free. It was possible that they’d still have to keep running, that they’d be pursued - but now, at least, they were out. Both of them. All three of them.

Just as he stepped into the cold breeze, the automata’s voice boomed again, “ **SELF-DESTRUCT MECHANISM - ACTIVATED.** ”

The explosion that followed, with hardly any delay, was deafening. _Fuck. Fuck!_ Throwing Ion off to one side, hoping the snow would be a soft enough surface for him, Marko fell forwards, the ground quaking so hard it was impossible to keep upright.

All that was left when it became still once more was the sound of fire hissing, and his blood rushing in his then ringing ears. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe any of it. It was like some kind of crazy dream.

He got to his knees, and then turned back towards the building. Its windows were shattered, the wood panelling alight. Nothing but ash and smoke and tongues of fire, no sign of any thugs, or indeed the automata. But Marko didn’t want to risk hanging around waiting for any of the men to be miraculously alive.

Vuk’s body lay outstretched, face-down, barely yards away from the opening in the wall. Had he been hit by the blast radius? Marko crawled over to find out.

The brief elation from escaping disappeared as quick as the automata’s self-destruct had triggered. Horror set back in. Upon the white snow, and the flecks of falling ash, was a splatter of blood.

In the right arm of Vuk’s shirt was a tear, the edges of which were marred with the same red. Marko’s mouth went dry. He thought that shot had missed.

With a groan, Vuk stirred; he lifted himself up using his uninjured arm, wincing and grinding his teeth on the gag between them. Once he’d moved into a seated position, he clutched at his wound. As before, he didn’t look Marko in the eye.

“We need to get outta here.” Marko said, standing and offering to help the other up. Vuk ignored this, and got to his feet by himself. Frowning, Marko added, “I’ll look at your arm, once we’re somewhere safe, yeah?”

Vuk plucked his knife out of the snow where it had fallen a short distance in front of him, and stuffed it into his belt. It seemed he could walk fine, but once he’d gotten his weapon back, his hand went back to covering his arm again. Though he didn’t appreciate the lack of acknowledgement, Marko decided it was best not to be bothered by it; it wasn’t much different from how Vuk had first acted towards him, anyway, but none of that mattered at that moment in time.

At first it seemed Vuk was going to walk straight ahead and back into the forest. Instead, he came to a halt where Ion was, sat with the Alpha’s other belongings around him. He watched the boy for a moment; there was a pained look in his eyes that formed just then, and he seemed to be letting out a sigh through his nose. He lifted his bloodied fingers and motioned for Ion to come with him. Once the boy was back on his feet and complied with that silent request, Marko followed after them.

He had no way of knowing now if Vuk was leading them anywhere in particular, but as long as it was away from the burning shell of that cabin, that was all that mattered.

 

* * *

 

The rising smoke from the explosion was visible from the spot they’d found. Granted, when they stopped, they hadn’t gotten very far. Marko wasn’t sure it was the safest place, but it would have to do for now - at least, Vuk seemed adamant on staying there for the time being. After cutting back through the forest, following the Alpha’s lead, the three of them had come to another open area, where a low-lying stream coursed. The first thing Vuk did was tear off the broken sleeve of his shirt; he then knelt by the stream’s bank and dipped it in the water, before wiping at the gash in his arm with the fabric. The water was freezing - it chilled the air about it as it ran, bubbling and spraying.

Marko eyed him, keeping a few yards distance. Though he’d said he’d take a look at it once they were in a safe place, he decided to leave him be then, if only for a short while. Instead, he turned his attention towards Ion. The boy’s legs and feet were bare, and he’d been treading through the snow with them like that - Marko felt like an idiot for not realising sooner.

“Ion, are ya cold?” He didn’t think the boy would answer, so he acted regardless. Kneeling down, he opened the rucksack and pulled out the blankets Vuk had hoarded from the HQ vehicle.

Ion took the first blanket with a grateful look and pulled the edge of it over his head before wrapping the rest around his body. One was enough to cocoon him entirely, with a lot of excess fabric trailing in the snow. He was quite a tiny boy, Marko thought; he didn’t think he was as young as his frame entailed. He had to wonder how long that Ion had been with those traffickers. If they hadn’t been looking after him properly, then no doubt that would have stunted his growth. _Poor thing._ Marko offered the boy a half-smile, guessing that he wouldn’t know anything about him for sure, unless he decided to say something. Until then, it was safe to assume he’d chosen to be mute, perhaps from trauma. Whatever the men in the ring had, or hadn’t, done to him, Marko didn’t think he wanted to know.

“I’m gonna go check on that guy, okay?” Marko tilted his head in the direction of the stream. As expected, Ion said nothing.

Though Vuk had cleaned off most of the blood by then, the wound was still very much open. From what Marko could see, there was - luckily enough - no sign that the bullet had entered his skin, rather, it had scraped the side. He squatted by the Alpha’s side, which earned him a sidelong glower - the first eye contact he’d given him in a while.

Marko still didn’t know what he’d done to warrant that kind of attitude. “Can I see?”

To his surprise, after a short pause, Vuk lowered the torn cloth, revealing the injury to him. Pink around the edges, the centre was thick with blood.

“Looks like it just barely missed ya.” Marko squinted, leaning in to get a closer look. “Doesn’t seem to be any debris in there either. Best we can do is make a tourniquet and wrap it up.” For a moment, he stopped to think, before moving back over to where he’d set the rucksack down. He hadn’t yet had a chance to look through all of the contents, but he wanted to check to see if there was a first-aid kit of some form in there.

After emptying everything from the rucksack and checking each item over, he found that wasn’t the case - however, there was one thing in there that he could make do with. At the bottom of the rucksack, beneath the tightly-bound lump that seemed to be the tent, was a glass bottle, half-filled with a clear liquid. Marko unscrewed the top and sniffed over the rim, the strong fumes inside wafting into his nostrils. Vodka. Timo had probably stowed it in there last time he’d used the camping gear himself, and had forgotten about it; given the situation, it was lucky he hadn’t checked before handing the rucksack over.

He didn’t bother replacing the bottle’s cap as he headed back to the stream. “Damn. Timo must’ve had some fun campin’ trips.” He muttered with a sense of irony. “Here, it’ll clean the wound out. Might sting, though.”

The sharp grunting noise that Vuk made when the liquid was poured onto his arm indicated that, yes, it did sting. He flinched, the muscles in his arm hardening - otherwise, he remained as still as possible. Marko only used as much alcohol as he needed, reserving a good amount in case it was needed again. After he’d moved away again, Vuk returned the pressure of the fabric to the wound.

So far, they’d had to make do with what was on hand, but Marko didn’t bother looking for anything that could be used in place of a bandage. He set the capped bottle to one side and then sat back, pulling up the left arm of his coat. The sleeve of the shirt beneath was buttoned up; he unfastened it.

Where his tattoo was, Marko wore a single bandage. There was nothing else he knew of that could cover it. All the suppressants in the world wouldn’t make that ugly black mark disappear. Forgetting there was anything under the wrapping was harder than he’d thought it would be, but at the very least, it had stopped the off-hand chance that other people would see. Until _then_ , anyway. But even then, he didn’t want to take it off.

Examining the bandage, he saw it had been lowered from its usual placing, yet not removed altogether. Upon finding his medication, the thugs had probably checked his wrist to make sure he actually was an Omega, whilst he was knocked out. His mind flashed back to the raggedy man for a moment, and his stomach lurched a little. There was a lot they could have done, whilst he was unconscious.

With a hard tug, he pulled the bandage loose, revealing the etched **ω** beneath.

Vuk looked like he had something to say about that bandage; thankfully, the gag prevented him from doing so. He grumbled behind it, instead, his head turned away from Marko as he wrapped the dampened fabric underneath the bandage.

“Ya need to stay warm. There’s a stove with the stuff Timo gave us, but I’m not sure how well it works.” Marko said, trying to move them away from the topic of his wrist as fast as he could. “That’s if ya wanna set up camp here, ‘cause... I mean, we could keep movin’ and find somewhere not as open.” He snorted a bit then, shaking his head. “Why’m I botherin’, huh? You’re still gagged, so ya can’t tell me what our next move’s gonna be. Shame we never found the switch, huh?” He said it with a dry tone on purpose, jokingly signifying that it wasn’t a shame at all.

Vuk gave him a sidelong stare, his brow knotting. He then lifted his knife back out of his belt and, without delay, hooked the point between his cheek and the cord of the gag. It snapped before Marko could even fathom what he was doing.

Even when he’d spat out the gag and wiped the drool off his chin with the back of his hand, Vuk didn’t speak straight away. Either those gags were flimsier than Marko had imagined, or that knife was pretty damned sharp. Perhaps both.

“Uhh.” Stunned a bit, Marko frowned. “I guess that’s one way of doin’ things.”

“They’re designed not to be ripped off by Alphas’ hands.” Vuk’s voice spoke in a monotone; it felt like forever since Marko had heard him talk last, for some reason. “But get a sharp enough blade and it can cut through the cord like butter.” He shook his head then, the scowl on his face becoming more prominent. He threw the gag to one side. “Gh, nevermind that, anyway - where’s Ion?”

That was sudden. Marko thumbed towards the boy. “Back there, why?”

The tension in Vuk’s body started to lower; his expression neutralised, and, with a sigh, he brought a hand to his face and rubbed at his eyes. “Fuck.” He spoke quietly, then; Marko wasn’t sure if he was talking to him, or himself. “Of all the damned places in the world.”

Glancing at Ion, he saw that the boy was curled up in the blanket still. He was looking back at the forest, and not towards the two of them.

“The hell’s going on?” Vuk continued to mumble to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose, like he’d contracted a sudden headache. After an intake of breath, he dropped his hand again and turned to Marko, face hardened. “Y’know who that kid is, right?”

Marko thought back to when the name ‘Ion’ had rung a bell in his head, and chewed it over. He admitted, “I feel like I should, but it’s not comin’ to me.”

“What? It’s obvious, just from looking at him.” The look Vuk gave Marko then was a cold one. “Jesus, you’re stupider than I thought. That’s _Ion_.”

Unappreciative of that comment, Marko’s response was abrupt, “You’re gonna have to imagine we just escaped a gang of thugs and an explosion and my head’s not screwed back on right yet.”

In a steady voice, Vuk, eyes narrowed, answered, “Ion Vlădoiu. Mihai’s kid brother.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Until the moment the words had left Vuk’s lips, Marko had forgotten that his late best friend had a blood-related sibling entirely. It was a fact locked away at the very back of his mind, and he hadn’t even considered it when dealing with the shocking revelation that Mihai was gone, either. Marko was an only child himself, and that was probably why it hadn't registered with him.

“Shit, really?” He asked, heart sinking. It was a surprise in itself, but of all the places in the world for them to have found Ion, _that place_ could have been one of the worst. Once again, the bulging eyes of the scruffy-looking man appeared in his mind; the word ‘it’. His stomach started to knot. That Ion had acted at all in that situation was incredible. If he hadn’t, then none of them would have escaped that place. Marko - a ‘mature Omega’, as it had been put - would have suffered rape at the hands of those men. It begged the question, why did Ion do what he did? Why did he risk what could have become a very dangerous situation for himself, for the sake of aiding Marko and Vuk? Eyeing the small boy again, Marko muttered his thoughts aloud, “If that’s the case, d’ya think he knows who we are?”

Vuk gave him a quick sidelong glance; it was almost dismissive. “Depends. Did _you_ ever meet him before now? ‘Cause I didn’t.”

After pausing to think it over for a moment, Marko replied, “Sorta. I went with Mihai to see him a few times, after he was born.” He frowned a little. “There’s no way he’d remember me.”

Whether or not Ion could hear their conversation wasn’t clear. Marko wondered what he could possibly be thinking, if he was listening in, whilst Vuk was silent for some time.

“Anyway.” Marko continued. “He might talk to us, in his own time.” He pulled himself to his feet, then cast a glance back at the rising smoke above the treetops. “I think we should keep movin’. This place is too open.”

Vuk also moved then, heading over to where Ion was sat, bundled up in the blanket. He threw on his coat and satchel, hissing a little when his arm seemed to hurt him; he checked the contents of his satchel once it was over his shoulder. Whilst collecting everything from the rucksack back together, Marko observed the Alpha from the corner of his eye; he squatted down to Ion’s level a moment later, another pained look on his face.

“You eaten anything recently?” He said, his tone remarkably gentle.

Ion, eyes widened at the figure of the man looming over him, shook his head a bit. Letting out a sigh, Vuk rummaged in his satchel, and pulled out a small plastic-wrapped package. He tore the top open and then extended it towards the boy, whose face lit up. He dropped his hold on the blanket to accept the offering with eagerness. The contents were naught but a stack of plain, rounded crackers, but Ion looked more than grateful to be getting anything to eat. He inhaled the first one in a matter of seconds.

“Geeze, don’t eat so fast or you’ll choke.” Vuk rolled his eyes, but he sounded somewhat amused. “C’mere.” He added, extending his uninjured arm. Rising back to his feet, he lifted Ion up with him, his forearm tucked underneath the boy’s legs.

 _Must be ‘cause he’s Mihai’s brother_ , Marko thought, noting how the Alpha was starting to turn soft all of a sudden. Rucksack back over his shoulder, he followed Vuk as he began to walk down the stream’s edge. “So, ya know where we’re goin’ now?”

“Somewhere not as open as here.” Came the blunt reply. “Like you said.”

They followed where the rushing water lead them, along its curves that cut through the forest, Marko walking, as before, a yard or so behind Vuk. How long they’d been holed up in that cabin wasn’t clear, but as the clouded sky began to darken, it appeared that it had been most of the day. Ion fell asleep against Vuk’s shoulder for some of the walk. The two men stayed as silent as usual, but there were things playing on Marko’s mind that he did want to ask Vuk. He thought it better to wait until they’d set up camp, though.

With the sky growing ever duller, late afternoon turning into evening, their footsteps became slower and more laboured. They came to a halt again, still at the river’s edge, in a pocket of empty ground where the trees had spaced out.

“We’re staying here.” Vuk said, moving Ion with care in his arms so that he could still be bundled in the blanket. He crouched, and placed the slumbering boy down in the snow, but he was back to his feet a moment later, and heading towards the trees. “I’m gonna go look for firewood. Doubt I’ll go far. Just try not to let anyone kidnap you this time.”

Marko scoffed as he slid the rucksack off his back, “Yeah? You’re one to talk.”

Vuk paused; he looked at Marko, holding a look that seemed offended, somehow. He grunted then, “Gah, I don’t have time to argue with you about that! I’ll be back soon.”

As wry as Marko’s initial muttering of "Yeah, I’m sure you will be" was (the moment Vuk was out of earshot), he didn’t think the same misfortune could beset them twice. Still, without the Alpha nearby, it did feel a little unsafe - perhaps down to what had happened earlier in the day. Marko was used to being alone (he wasn’t _alone_ , though, that time - Ion was there too), but he sure as hell wasn’t used to feeling so… Vulnerable. He found that fact annoying.

Keeping a close eye on Ion, he began to put the tent from the rucksack together. It proved to be a struggle; when Timo had said that it was old stuff, he hadn’t thought to mention that a few of the wires had been rusted and bent out of shape, or that there was a tear in the fabric of the floor. That issue was simple enough to fix by placing the other blanket over it, but still, when Timo had said that it was ‘old but worked’, he’d been a lot more liberal with his words than Marko had expected. A fair warning of ‘it’s a little bent, so you might have to work harder to erect it’ would have been appreciated.

But he came close to finishing, by the time Vuk returned. The Alpha dumped his hoard of low-hanging, thin branches close to the edge of the stream; he didn’t acknowledge Marko or his efforts, or offer to help with finishing the tent. Though Marko frowned at this, he decided not to let it bother him. Vuk got to work on setting a small fire going instead.

Once the tent was secured and the blanket laid on the floor, Marko picked Ion up out of the snow, as gently as he could. The boy stirred a bit in his sleep, his nose twitching and crinkling like it was tickling - something Marko could remember Mihai doing when he was asleep. A small smile formed on Marko’s lips at the thought, brief as it was; at the same time, it saddened him, too. He placed Ion inside the tent and closed the flaps.

“Kid’s had it rough, huh?” Marko said, off-hand, as he sat himself down a short distance away from Vuk.

The Alpha was rubbing two pieces of wood together in an attempt to get a spark, ignoring what had just been said. Unappreciative of that, Marko looked away with a sharp snorting noise. The attempt to light the fire jogged his memory a bit, and he slipped his hand into the pocket of his pants, feeling the cold metal of his lighter. That it hadn’t moved from there indicated that the thugs hadn’t checked those pockets in particular. He decided against offering it to Vuk - for the time being.

“I didn’t get kidnapped. _You_ did.” Vuk grumbled all of a sudden. His teeth were clenched as he exerted force on the pieces of wood. “I caught a whiff of two other Alphas when I was heading back, then saw you being hauled off by one of ‘em and I thought, ‘shit, now I gotta go save his sorry ass for the second time’.” He huffed. “Turns out one of ‘em was in rut, so I ended up getting overpowered.”

Marko scratched at the back of his neck, feeling abashed now. He really _had_ gotten himself caught that time, after all. “Yeah, well, ya managed to handle yourself against ‘em before we got out.”

“Ion shot the one in rut. The other one had hold of you, that time.” Vuk gave Marko a somewhat off-put look. “I keep thinking you know this shit already, but ‘cause of the suppressants, you can’t scent ‘em out. S’Goddamn weird.” Turning his attention back to the wood, he added, “Can’t say they put up much of a fight anyway. Think they didn’t want you getting ‘tarnished’, or whatever.”

“‘Tarnished’.” Marko repeated, in a monotone.

“To sick fucks like that, you’re valuable goods.” Vuk grimaced as he rubbed the pieces of wood harder. “You’re a 131, so I reckon theyd’ve gotten anything between 15 and 20 thousand for you. Provided you were in good shape still.”

The response was a little nonchalant for the topic, but Marko didn’t care about that in particular - rather, he wanted a better explanation than that. “But, uh.  _Why?_ Why were they searchin’ out ‘mature Omegas’ to sell?”

Vuk gave him another slow side-eye. “‘bout a year back, a ‘black market’ sprung up in the capital. And when I say the capital, I mean the centre, where all the elites and other wealthy pigs are.” He managed to get a spark, and so lowered his head down and blew to get it to catch alight. A little ember started to flicker. “Thing is, you can’t really call it a ‘black market’, ‘cause HQ more or less endorse it. It attracts a few stray Alphas too, 'cause apparently what they get outta it for putting their scenting to use s'better than anything they can get being a part of the stronghold." He spat. "Fucking treacherous pieces of dirt.”

Now that Marko thought about it, Vuk didn’t seem at all surprised or deterred that the automata had been in that cabin and under the control of the traffickers. “So, HQ were workin’ with ‘em?” As he lowered his gaze to the small flame, the only thing he could think of in regards to that was - _why?_

The answer came not long after. “I’d guess that they were operating in the area ‘cause HQ’d given ‘em information on an Omega being loose. Hell, you might be a criminal by HQ’s standards, but as long as they’d gotten you back on their radar somehow, it’s fine by them.” Vuk made a sharp ‘tsk’ing noise. “I mean, technically, them letting those trafficking bastards have you is cutting out the middleman.”

Marko was having trouble absorbing everything that was being revealed at once. “Uh, so what you’re sayin’ is...”

“If HQ decided you weren’t so much of a threat that you could be less of a pain in the ass for them and not rot to death in jail, then you’d have been passed on to thugs like those guys and sold.” Vuk replied, bluntly. He ducked his head to blow on the fire again. “It’s a damned good job you’re taking those suppressants, or they’d have sniffed you out a long time ago. Reckon HQ gave ‘em something to work with this time, probably a physical description. They could’ve found your scan data still logged in the automata.”

What Vuk was saying seemed like vital information, and upon considering it, Marko was annoyed that he hadn’t been told about it sooner. Then again, it wasn’t like Vuk had really said much to him at all; he’d go so far as to say this was the most he’d gotten out of him.

“Why, though?” Marko asked, mouth dry.

Vuk raised his head, and frowned at him; a vague look of confusion crossed his countenance briefly. Then, he snorted, attention returning to the fire. “Shit, you really don’t know anything, do you?” There was bitterness in his voice, but also something akin to pity.

Marko fought hard not to roll his eyes. “Just answer my question.”

Little embers at the bottom of the wood pile started to flicker. Shoulders tensing, Vuk shifted into a more upright position. “Omegas’re sought after by the elite in the capital. Wealthy men in the elite, if you wanna be precise.” He didn’t look Marko in the eye as he spoke, gaze cast downwards onto the fire. “It started just after the program ended. Even though the people in the capital knew of us before, we weren’t considered to be human like them. That went on ‘til the King announced he was marrying an Omega.”

Utopia’s Royal Family were revered a great deal by the nobility, but as with all issues regarding the capital, very little information left the city’s borders. Omega or not, if what Vuk had said was true, that meant that the King had married another man - that matter alone must have caused a stir. “Now that I think about it...” Marko began to mutter. “I remember hearin’ about a Royal Wedding, not long after I came out here. Nothin’ about it bein’ an Omega that the King was marryin’, though.”

“Not just any Omega, though.” Vuk added, voice cold again. “He married the Omega of the Kirklands.”

‘ _The Omega of the Kirklands’_ , Marko repeated in his mind. “So then, the guy that Peter was cloned from...”

The Alpha cast his gaze towards him then. “That happened a month or so after we started affiliating with the rebels. After that, other young men in the elite started to want Omegas instead of wives. So the ‘black market’ came about, to fulfill the demand.” His fingers tightened until they were balled into tense fists, and his voice quietened, “Rich pigs’d throw their whole fucking inheritances away at traffickers, for fertile, unbonded Omegas. And you know what? Most of the Omegas don't resist.” He eyed Marko for a prolonged few seconds, whilst he continued, voice dull, "We spent our lives in the program knowing we didn't get to choose the Alpha or Omega we'd be stuck with. For those Omegas, being trafficked's the same. Only, regardless of whichever pig they're forced to marry, they're guaranteed a comfortable life in the centre."

Marko took a moment to wrap his head around what he was being told. It was difficult to do so, but he also found that the answers Vuk was giving him were making sense enough. “So.” He began. “You’re sayin’ that Omegas became preferable to marry instead of women, all ‘cause the King had done so?” That Omegas were being treated as some kind of trend was the hardest thing to consider; the little sickened feeling in the pit of Marko’s chest flared up as he spoke.

“Yeah, but that’s just part of it.” Vuk’s nose crinkled. “Since you’re a medic, you’ll know all about our biology. What happens when a human man and an Omega breed?”

“Er.” Marko paused, not because he was unsure of the answer, but rather because the question had come out of left field. But then why it had been asked became obvious. “The resultin’ offspring’s always a regular Alpha or Omega. That’s how the program kept goin’ in the first place, by introducin’ human men to prevent bloodlines from overlappin’.” He eyed the hardened expression on Vuk’s face. “At some point, all of us had a human ancestor.”

The Alpha glanced at him sidelong, lips spread into a thin line. “Give it five or six generations and Alphas and Omegas’ll become the new elite. There’ll still be humans around, ‘cause the whole thing about ‘marrying another man’ ain’t exactly sitting right with all the elite, even if the King did it himself, but they’ll be overrun.”

Watching the flames start to build up in the tinder, Marko mulled it all over to himself. Even if he’d gained answers, they only opened up onto more questions. “Ya think that’s what the King wants? Or the Kirkland Omega?”

“Dunno.” Came the gruff reply. “That’s what the rebel force’re trying to find out: exactly why the hell they’d want that, if it even is their intention.”

“Huh. Thought you guys just opposed the elite as a whole.” Marko said, dully. “At least, that’s the gist of what I got from Erzsébet. She has a nice life in the centre, but she talks about the sufferin’ of the rest of the city a lot.” He leant over his lap, a frown of annoyance crossing his face. “She kept sayin’ that there were sick kids that needed me there, a lot of guilt-trippin’ shit like that.”

“Yeah well, now you mention it, one theory we’ve got is that turning the elite into Alphas and Omegas protects ‘em from the rebellion. Hell if we know for sure, though. For that to be the case, they’d have to have known we were gonna align with the rebels from the beginning.”

“Seems like the logical thing to assume, though, doesn’t it? HQ used us like tools, so it’s only natural we’d join their opposition once freed.” The fire started to rise, and Marko shuffled back a little; he kept just close enough to remain warm. “What I wanna know is why they freed us in the first place.”

“Who knows?” Vuk answered, tone blunt and bitter. “They sure as hell didn’t do it just ‘cause they were replacing us with those pieces of junk, and I doubt they ever expected us to believe _that_ lie, either.” ‘That lie’ was in reference to HQ’s official reasoning for the end of the program; the replacement of the Alphas, who were able to disobey orders, with automata that followed any command they were given so long as they were functioning.

Before it occurred to Marko that he was thinking out loud, the words had already left his mouth, “What about that automata back there?”

Vuk was quiet for some time before he formed a reply, “Never seen one like that.” A long, strained breath left his nose. “As for what it was _doing_ \- getting us outta there, saying I wasn’t a threat - it was probably malfunctioning.” In his voice, there was uncertainty; he moved the subject along as if his theory was set in stone regardless. “How’re you feeling?”

The question came as a surprise, and when Marko looked up from the fire again, he saw that Vuk’s eyes, flickering amber in the light of the flames, were trained upon him.

“Ye--” He faltered, gaze darting away for a fleeting moment. When he looked back, the intent stare was still fixed in place. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. _Yeah_. I’m fine.” Vuk hadn’t expressed any concern for him verbally before. Marko hadn’t thought him the type. To have been asked how he felt out of the blue seemed uncanny. “Why d’ya ask?”

“Thought you might be shaken up, after what happened back there.”

Marko snorted a bit. “Thought that went without sayin’.” Once again he looked towards the rising fire, feeling the first licks of warmth on his face. “Ya don’t need to worry about me, though. I’m pretty tough.” He tried to come across light-hearted about it, though he wasn’t sure Vuk would be appreciative of that kind of tone.

Luckily, the Alpha didn’t seem to react at all - not at first. But Marko continued to feel his eyes fixed upon him. “Whatever you say.” He didn’t sound convinced, somehow.

Darkness swelled in the grey skies; the last of the dim light withered away above the tops of the trees and the far-off horizon that lay beyond the bend of the stream. Vuk’s gaze eventually moved away from Marko’s face. The two of them were brought back into a state of silence. Marko used this stretch of time to reconsider his answer. Was he fine? Even if he wasn’t _greatly_ distressed by the events of that day alone (which wasn’t to say he hadn’t been at all; he _was_ disturbed, that was for sure, but for his own sake he’d forced himself to keep his head up), what had been revealed then and there in his conversation with Vuk had flared up the unease inside him.

“Go to sleep.” The Alpha’s voice cut through his trail of thoughts.

Marko felt the edges of his lips twitch. “S’that an order?”

“Might as well be.”

“You’re not my boss.”

Vuk shifted his body sideways and laid down, using the elbow of his uninjured arm for support. “The capital’s still a day’s walk from here. We set off early, we can get there before tomorrow evening.”

Taking that into consideration made the idea of sleeping unappealing. For a short time Marko had managed to forget that they were still on their way to the capital. “ _Great._ ” He said in a strained, partial sigh. He ran a hand backwards through his hair, remembering something he’d chewed over earlier. “Ya know which way we’re goin’ then?”

“I know.” Was the firm reply.

The fire hissed and crackled and made the air thick with the scent of ash; it cast shadows on Vuk’s face and a golden hue across the snow. To reach the tent, Marko was going to have to leave the warmth and venture into the chilly air. Thinking about that made the capital seem closer by than the tent. He forced himself to his feet. “Wake me when ya get too tired. I don’t mind keepin’ watch for a while.”

Vuk lifted a hand and waved it dismissively. “Just go to sleep.”

Marko paused. Though he was starting to get used to the Alpha’s brusque answers, that hadn’t been a yes or a no. He was prepared to ask if he planned on staying out there all night and risking freezing to death, but he bit it back. “G’night.” Was all he muttered, before stepping across the shady expanse before the tent.

“ _Hey_.” Sharp, the brunet’s voice rose from the fireside again.

Having just reached the front of the tent, Marko glanced back, towards Vuk’s darkened silhouette, a solid shadow that faced the bright, swelling flames. The Alpha didn’t turn towards him.

“What is it?” Marko asked. He wondered, in the pregnant pause that followed, what Vuk wanted now; perhaps Marko had left something lying around back there and had forgotten to take it with him, or maybe there was a detail about their route tomorrow the brunet needed to explain and it had slipped his mind before. He didn’t think for a moment he’d receive the actual response that came.

“Remember when you ran off after that Kirkland brat?”

 _Well, if I don’t, my teeth sure as hell still do,_ Marko thought. At the same time, he didn’t know where that had come from all of a sudden. The “Uh-huh?” he emitted was a little wry.

Vuk’s figure was incredibly still. His next words were softened, to the point where they were almost a mumble, “I’m sorry.”

At first, Marko didn’t believe his ears. And then, he didn’t believe the small feeling of warmth in his chest. His lips perked up into a smile; it was an expression he was relieved that Vuk couldn’t see. “In general, or for the punch?” ‘ _Cause, you’re still an asshole, in general._ He noted not to forget that, himself.

“Just that. You had the rest coming.”

It was a bizarre thing to have had sprung upon him all of a sudden. But given that it was Vuk, he guessed he couldn’t at all complain. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Glad to hear it. Now go to bed.”

Marko said nothing more. He crawled inside and, upon shutting the flap, spent his last conscious moments of the night laid on his back close to the opening (creating some space between himself and Ion’s slumbering form), watching the glow from the fire dance upon the translucent fabric. Not once more did he think of the capital, or even the road that lay ahead of them.

 

* * *

 

The sky was still black, the stars still alight when the time came to depart.

Half-asleep, Marko began to take the empty tent apart. Vuk had mentioned something about leaving as little trace of their overnight stop there as possible. The Alpha was kicking piles of snow onto the dwindling embers; a pile of grey slush and blackened sticks like burnt, protruding bones was left in his wake. He must have soon after decided that it was still too much evidence to leave behind, and so scraped the remnants over the edge of the bank and into the stream. A few loud _plops_ and _spurts_ followed.

It was impossible to make it appear like nothing or no one had ever touched the small patch of land since the last wintry shower. The three of them left behind nothing but disturbed snow as they departed, following the curves of the stream. Like the day before, Vuk had hold of Ion, who still was wrapped in a blanket to ward off the cold. As Marko had expected, the Alpha had spent the night uncovered with only the fire to keep him warm. He wasn’t sure if his resilience was impressive or just plain stupid.

A short time into their walk, though, Marko’s mind became more concerned with his own well being than that of his companions’. Just after they had set off, a dull pain had risen in his lower ribs. He didn’t think much of it, until it swelled up, becoming an ache, and then a stabbing sensation. He grimaced, but pressed onwards - until it became severe enough to make his footsteps laboured and uneven. Then, he stopped.

“What is it?” Vuk twisted his body for a moment to look back, only coming to a halt when there was a few yards’ difference between them - he’d probably assumed Marko would follow without much delay.

“ _Hurts_.” Marko grunted out, clutching at the spot where the pain was. Teeth grinding, he staggered a little ways forward. “Probably just ‘cause I’ve been sleepin’ rough and not eatin’ much.” That seemed like the most likely reason. It had been a while since he’d last had to think about causes of chest pains, and even then, it hadn’t been for himself. “It’s cold, too.” He added, when he’d reached where Vuk was stood. He didn’t make eye contact with the Alpha, and kept looking ahead instead.

“I can’t carry both of you.” Vuk snorted.

Marko drew in a breath, attempting to straighten up his posture. The hastily repackaged tent flung onto his back didn’t help much. “I’ll be fine.”

It felt like the darkness would never end, but after they’d proceeded further down the path cut by the stream, the ache did ease up a little. Marko was relieved - only his feet hurt, after that, and that was something that he could do his best to ignore. Many long hours lay ahead - as did a long distance. And their destination was the capital. Marko wished he hadn’t remembered that.

But once they were there, at least, all that silent, endless walking he and Vuk had been doing would come to an end.  _Then what?_ , he had to ask himself. He’d have to stay in the stronghold, and live among the other Alphas and Omegas. The prospect of that alone wasn’t so terrible - at least it wasn’t the _centre_ \- but it wasn’t his _home_. Given that HQ were still in pursuit of him, it would take some time before he could return to his village. Bearing that in mind, he did see the sense in heading to the stronghold. If it was the safest place for him, that was where he needed to be - even temporarily. That didn’t mean he was looking forward to crossing the rest of the capital to get there, though.

Birdsong flourished in the highest reaches of the trees, the dawn just barely breaking in the east. Marko felt better knowing that it would soon be light; with the stream as their guide, navigation wasn’t of much concern, but he knew that even if it were behind the clouds, the sun would help take the edge off the bitter cold.

But the feeling was short lived.

Vuk stifled, all of a sudden. His footsteps slowed, and he asked in a quiet voice, “Y’hear that?”

Eyebrow raised, Marko frowned in confusion. “Hear what?”

As if on cue, a roaring noise began to amplify, rising in the distance until it was rumbling, shaking the ground beneath their feet. A swooping sound that cracked in Marko’s ears and made his stomach jump into his throat followed; in a flash, a machine soared across the tips of the trees, almost too quickly to catch sight of - a charcoal-coloured figure against the early light; it vibrated through the forest and snow was dropped from the highest branches.

Something strained and sardonic that sounded like "This is exactly what we fucking need right now" left Vuk’s mouth, before he directly towards Marko a firm, “ _RUN._ ” After that, he didn’t linger darting ahead with his arm tight around Ion.

Marko shot after him, as fast as his sore feet and legs would allow him.

“I thought... Ya said... HQ wouldn’t... Waste their search jets on us!” He called out to Vuk between heavy breaths, his pulse racing faster than his body was moving. He was sure of what he’d seen - the dark metal, the almost bullet-like shape and the sharp wings: it _had_ to have been one of HQ’s jets, or why else would they have been running?

“That was before that automata blew itself to shit yesterday!” Was the snappy reply.

‘HQ wouldn’t waste their jets unless they were desperate’, was how Vuk had originally put it. They were not manned machines, rather, they were controlled remotely from HQ’s base in the capital, and used heat mapping to locate their targets. Which meant that hiding amongst the trees was useless - but there would come a point where running would also prove futile. Unless there was a slim chance the jet had yet to see them - unlikely, given its overhead proximity.

Marko had to force as much speed into his legs as he could to keep up with Vuk. “What the hell do we do, then!?” If the Alpha knew The North well, then he had to have known some form of safe passage for them - or did he just plan to have them _run_ the rest of the way?

He didn’t get an answer.

Where the stream ended the pines opened up, revealing where the stream’s mouth met the much wider main river; from where it began in the mountains, it stretched through The North and ended at the eastern coastline. It was where the river met its end that the capital itself was built. If Vuk’s initial plan had been to continue to follow the river as it coursed, then there was a significant barrier that lay ahead of them - but at that time Marko cared more about the problem that was, potentially, _behind_ them.

Was the jet in pursuit? Marko didn’t dare compromise his speed for even a brief glance backwards. It looked like Vuk didn’t want to risk it, either. Their quickened footsteps scraped through the thick snow; it was worthless to care about the tracks they were leaving in their wake. The North’s main road formed a sturdy stone bridge over the river a few yards down from the stream’s mouth, but instead of crossing it like Marko assumed he was going to, Vuk shot past it, continuing down the edge of the river.

 _Where the fuck are we going, then!?_ , he wanted to cry out, but the briskness of the run was too overbearing - he couldn’t form the words. But Vuk’s head was twisting back and forth, and soon he stopped running; he didn’t look to be searching for the jet, but rather, he seemed to be scoping the area around them.

Marko stopped too, then, taking the opportunity to catch his breath, but he was also desperate to ask why they weren’t still on the move. Once the sound of the blood rushing in his ears had died down, there was only the river water lapping at its rocky edges and the distant hissing of the jet’s engine above the forest’s silence.

“I-It’s... It’s not... C-comin’ after us?” Marko managed to splutter out between huffs of cold air that made his lungs hurt almost as bad as the pain in his chest had done earlier.

“Of course it’s coming after us.” Was Vuk’s abrupt reply. He too was sucking in ragged breaths through his teeth. “ _Fuck_ , we keep running like this and there’s no way it won’t catch up.  _Tch_. They’re not gonna just fire at us from above, either - they’ll have automata and officials in the area. Hell, they’ve probably sent off our coordinates already.”

 _Then why are we just standing here?_ Marko’s face soured. “So we can’t keep runnin’.”

“No.” Vuk turned his head again a couple of times, and then looked Marko straight in the eye. “There’s one way out, though.”

Marko couldn’t fathom what that way could possibly be - until Vuk had stepped towards the edge of the river. The water rushed and crashed downstream, and the air about it was bitter.

He swallowed. “Ya can’t be serious.”

“It’s the only way out.” Vuk retorted. “Trust me on this.”

“Yeah, it’s a _way out_ , if ya wanna die of hypothermia - that’s _if_ ya even make it outta the water!” Still exhausted from the run, Marko nearly choked on his words.

Vuk glanced back over at him. “Under the water’s where the cave system starts. They’ll block our heat signals and lead us to just outside the capital. You don’t wanna get caught by HQ again? Then get in the water.”

The cave system must have referred to the hollowed out tunnels in the cliff that hung above the capital’s western vicinity. They were closed off from travellers, or from anyone really, if Marko remembered right, due to ‘safety precautions’. But that heading below the river was the only way to get in couldn’t have been possible.

Marko licked over his lips. “Where else can we get into the caves?”

The jet’s engine echoed in the distance and Vuk spat, “ _Get in the water._ ”

It was hard to keep arguing with the prospect of being ambushed by HQ at any given moment lingering above them. “There has to be some other way to get down there.”

“ _Get in the fucking water right now!_ ”

A loud smack split through the air. It took Marko a few moments to comprehend what had happened - his hand was raised, formed into a loose fist. Vuk’s head had moved to the side; there was a reddening blotch on his jaw, and a vacant expression on his face. Ion, on the other hand, appeared startled.

Everything was still, save for Marko’s hand lowering. As bad as he wanted to feel about the look on Ion’s face, this wasn’t the time or place for them to be doing anything but acting.

With as much calmness as he could muster, Marko spoke again, “There must be another way in.”

The emptiness on Vuk’s face didn’t falter. His answer, when it came a few seconds later, was quiet and methodical. “Across the bridge. There’s an old mine shaft. It’s blocked off, has been for years. Getting over the block isn’t a problem. Getting into the caves from there is.”

“We’re goin’ that way, or not at all.” Marko said, not taking his eyes off Vuk until the other man had unfrozen from the spot.

The tingling on his knuckles was, he found, well worth the fact that the Alpha had apparently listened to him, and was now picking up his pace back into a run, aiming for the bridge this time. Marko followed at a similar speed, his limbs still aching from the previous dash.

 _It was probably just because of the circumstances_ , he thought. No other time would an Alpha have obeyed an Omega like that - not typically, anyway, and after a backhand to the face? Marko didn’t think Vuk would forget that, but nor did he care, because all the while there was still the very high possibility of being caught. He kept his eyes peeled, once they’d crossed the river and gotten out of plain sight again; automata could have been lurking anywhere, but they were easily spotted in the shade of the trees by the lights of their headpieces.

As before, Vuk moved his head about on occasion to check that they were in the right place. It took some time, but he managed to lead them to a clearing in the forest, and - as he had said - there was a barricade at every possible entry point; wooden boards had been hammered up, ‘ **HAZARDOUS - NO ENTRY** ’ printed boldly in red on the one that blocked their path. They stopped before the barrier. Vuk peered over as Marko hung back to catch his breath again.

“It’s dangerous.” Vuk said in a monotone; he seemed to be aware he was stating the obvious.

“More dangerous than a freezin’ cold river?”

There was no response from the Alpha. Knowing they were still running against the clock, Marko stepped towards the barrier and looked over as well. There was nothing but a flat sheet of snow beyond; it was probable that the shaft had been sealed in one way or another and was now covered by the white expanse, with no indication of exactly where the seal began.

“Ya know your way around these caves, then?” Marko asked as he hitched his leg up over the wooden plank.

“No.” Came the brusque reply.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Marko set his feet back on the ground with care. It was solid beneath him. So far, so good. “ _Great._ ” He stated with blatant sarcasm. “But it’s the old minin’ system, so it can’t be all that complicated, right?”

Once again Vuk said nothing. Marko cursed at him inwardly - even another ‘no’ as an answer for that would have been preferable.

Before Marko could step any further forwards, Vuk had lifted Ion over the barrier and towards him. “Here.” He said, firm and upfront, waiting until the small boy was safe in Marko’s hold before he started to hop across himself. “Stay put. Don’t move until I tell you to.” He was back to speaking coolly, which Marko assumed was down to the fact he had smacked him before.

The Alpha took cautious steps forwards, gaze cast down all the while. He stilled at a creaking sound that came after one steady press down of his right foot. After stepping backwards again, he squatted down, and began to brush the snow off the seal with his hands.

For those few moments, Marko had been watching Vuk so closely, dreading that he might put a foot wrong and drop through the shaft, that he had almost tuned out from the rest of the world. He was brought back having caught sight of something in the corner of his vision - upon instinct, he took a glance over a barrier opposite them, and through the trees beyond.

His eyes met with a circular glint of red, encased in silver and otherwise shrouded in the dark depths of the forest. His stomach sank at the clicking noise that followed, and he wheezed out the first word that came to mind.

“ _Shit_!”

The time between his eyes meeting the glinting light, Vuk’s head lifting and the other man’s body darting away from the seal was very short. Marko swore he had barely blinked before the Alpha had his good arm wrapped around his legs. _The fuck is he doing!?_

But then it became obvious. And Marko, clinging onto the trembling bundle that was Ion, was fairly sure that he hadn’t slapped Vuk hard enough after all. The Alpha moved his centre of gravity, pulling all three of them down towards the shaft.

The wooden seal broke with a _crack_. There was a whipping of air and a drumming of his pulse in Marko’s ears, and he tensed his body in preparation for hitting something - _anything_ \- solid. Everything faded to black before that happened.

 

* * *

 

 

At some point, they had stopped falling.

Marko didn’t know how long he’d been out, but he had definitely slipped into some kind of unconscious state. Below him was coldness, and what felt like a very jagged piece of metal in his back. Above him was warmth, and as his eyes began to make sense of the dark place, he saw that far above was a pinprick of pale light - the entrance to the shaft. So, they’d fallen - just how far, though, he couldn’t be sure; he didn’t even feel like taking a guess.

The other two - were they okay? His arm was still around the slightly coarse blanket, and inside that was a form that was wriggling in discomfort. Ion was still in one piece, then; he’d had a soft enough landing atop Marko’s shoulder, probably. Relieved to have acknowledged that, he loosened his hold on the boy, turning his attention to the bigger stirring lump, situated on his lower ribs, belly and legs.

Given what had just happened, it took Marko a little longer than it should have to get his head around the fact that Vuk’s face was resting against one of his hip bones. His cheeks grew hot; he felt the urge to fend the Alpha off with his kneecap. Instead, he slid up into a seated position, noticing that the poking in his back had been from the rucksack. If the tent hadn’t already been broken, it definitely had to have been, now. It was a good thing it had been there to soften their fall, though - better the tent be smashed than their bodies.

Vuk sat up a moment later. “You awake?”

“I sure as hell hope so.” Marko groaned in response. He pushed himself forwards into a seated position as well, wincing a bit; his body was shaken up at best. Remembering why they’d hurtled down the shaft, he sighed, “The automata can’t track us down here, right? The drop’s gotta be a big enough block.” At his side, Ion had managed to get himself upright.

“Yeah. But it’s seen us, meaning the data’s been sent already. So, HQ knows we’re in the caves, regardless of where we go from here.” The Alpha clicked his tongue. “They’ll be placing automata at every exit.”

Marko pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, what d’ya suggest we do now, then?”

A shuffling noise indicated that Vuk was rising to his feet. “There’s a route through here that cuts down the side of the river and into the edge of the capital. Like I said before, I’ve never been through here, so I don’t know how to get there for sure - only that I know where it ends. No doubt it’ll be the first to be guarded, but if we’re lucky, the automata might cause enough of a stir to alert the rebels. Nothing else we can do but hope that’s the case, and even if not, it’s better than running out in the open - unless you feel like spending your last days rotting away in _this_ place.”

At a loss for any other ideas, Marko mentally agreed. He forced himself to his feet as well, body aching from the impact a little; he found his balance before managing to make out Vuk’s outline in the sheer darkness. He remembered something, then, and slipped his hand into his pocket. “Here.” From it, he pulled his lighter, extending it towards the Alpha. “There’s probably some wood lyin’ ‘round from the top of the shaft, right? Might be an idea to make a torch.”

Vuk took the lighter, flicked it back and struck it until he got the small flame up. Then, he began to rummage around on the ground for a piece of wood, following the suggestion. In the meantime, Marko turned his attention towards Ion, who still had the blanket wrapped tight around him. He extended his hand towards the boy, offering to lift him back up again.

“You’re doin’ okay, right, Ion?” He asked, knowing he wouldn’t get a reply. As long as Ion hadn’t hit his head or done any other kinds of damage to himself, then he was going to assume everything was okay. Physical damage was one thing, though - Ion was probably frightened, as well; hell, Marko didn’t think he was one to be easily spooked, but with everything that was happening, and in such a short amount of time too, he was on edge to say the least.

With the makeshift torch lit, Vuk handed the lighter back to Marko, before he made his way over to a hollow opening in one of the shaft’s walls. There didn’t seem to be any other ways to go - so he stepped inside. Ion in his hold, Marko followed; he had to duck his head under the top of the opening to get through.

The tunnel beyond cut downwards; it was steep and narrow and unpleasantly claustrophobic. Whereas the air outside had been frigid, down there the cold was dull and dank, carrying the scent of stagnant water, more than likely wafting up from whichever part of the system met the river. Not only that, but the sides of the passage didn’t look all that solid, either. No wonder the shaft had been labeled ‘hazardous’ - the drop had been, sure, but it was clear why safety precautions had caused the caves to be sealed off in the first place.

Whilst he was thinking it over (in trying to distract himself from thinking about anything else), a question came to Marko’s mind. “Hey, if you’ve never been in here before, how come ya know about the way in under the river?”

“Same way I knew about the shaft. Same way I knew my way around The North.” Vuk replied.

“‘Cause ya spent time at the outpost up here?”

“Basically. ‘Sides, the resistance was using this network for operations long before the program was over, just not all that often - you can probably tell why.”

Marko could think of a few reasons why - asides from being cramped and dangerous, it didn’t seem like the place would have been all that useful, except perhaps for hiding in. He huffed a breath through his nose. “Kinda hard to believe people used to _mine_ in this place.”

“S’harder to believe they stopped.” Bitterness grew in Vuk’s voice. “Guess they’d already exhausted everything in here. Not like it matters that this one’s empty, Utopia still has claim to most of the region's resources anyway.”

Once Marko had given it some thought, he recalled that there were extensive, modern mines in the far North that were under Utopian ownership. Coal mines in the mountains and oil refineries in particular, but even then, they had still been a world away from his little village - the resources were never transported by vehicles through The North, but rather, by robust cargo ships that carried them down The North’s shoreline and into Utopia’s western port. It was a similar situation in The South from what he knew - the parts of The South that were under Utopian ownership, at least.

He couldn’t help but think further on that matter, then. “Y’know, my village was cut off from the rest of civilisation a lot of the time. We never got any reports on how the war in The South was doin’.” He stared at the back of Vuk’s head, the flame flickering in front of him creating a strange, shadowy halo effect about him. “Last I heard, the automata were stormin’ the largest city.”

Vuk took his time in answering, and when he did, his voice was thick with disdain. “They took that city. Fell about two weeks after the end of the program.” He paused again. “They’ve made progress since then, of course - piling on so much Goddamn pressure’ll get you somewhere eventually, but there’s still the far-off parts of The South that’re free. Struggling with more than half their land snatched away? _Yeah_ , but they’re _free_.”

A soreness rose inside Marko’s chest, but not because of any aches and pains from the cold or from tiredness or the fall through the seal. His brow furrowed a little, and his eyes dropped away from the other man. “There uh. There were Alphas that lost their lives in the war in The South. Mine, among 'em...” He spoke slow and with care, aware that his voice would echo through the tunnel if he didn’t. Blurry visions of the hangar flashed in front of his eyes. He remembered the sensation of being close to vomiting; it manifested as a dull weight in his lower stomach. “Knowin’ that the automata made progress there makes it kinda seem...” _Like their deaths were in vain?_ He didn’t really know how to end that sentence properly. He’d spent the past four years trying his hardest not to.

“Makes it seem like they died for no good reason.” Vuk continued. “They _didn’t_. But by HQ’s logic, fighting those wars and dying in them, for the sake of the Utopia and her King, that was our purpose.” After inhaling deep, he spoke again, “We were weapons. _Tools._ But that was our lives. It was all we knew.”

The internal aching was made worse by Vuk’s words. Marko knew he wasn’t trying to justify it - he was a rebel, so why would he? But, it wasn’t pleasant to hear nonetheless.

Vuk seemed to tense his shoulders a little. “You loved him?” Despite his words, the brunet sounded somewhat nonchalant.

Marko bit on the inside of his lip.

_One month was never going to be enough time to fall in love with someone._

He’d reasoned with himself. He’d had four years to do so.

“I don’t know.” He sniffed a bit.

They returned to walking in silence. Marko anticipated some kind of response from Vuk. But it never came. The only sound that filled his ears was that of their footsteps, crunching on the gravelly floor below.

It didn’t take long before they arrived at an opening in the side of the tunnel; beyond was a route that must have lead elsewhere. Having shone the torch’s light through first, Vuk poked his head inside; he was thinking hard, from what Marko could make out of his shadowy facial expression. A moment later, Vuk stepped through. Though Marko went after him, he was unsettled; he _had_ said before he didn’t know his way around down there.

“If ya don’t know your way, then why’re we goin’ this way instead of stayin’ on the path back there?” He was compelled to ask, though he wasn’t too sure he’d get much of a straight answer out of the Alpha.

“Call it a hunch.”

“ _A hunch._ ”

“All of the paths’ve gotta lead somewhere.” Vuk snorted, then. “‘Sides, the layout’s pretty straightforward; it’s kinda like a grid system. Only thing we really have to ‘figure out’ is which way’s east.”

Despite his words, Marko didn’t feel any more at ease. But it _was_ an answer, at least. “Y’sure know a lot ‘bout the place for never havin’ been here.”

“Like I said before, the resistance’s been using the caves for years.” The Alpha continued. “They were gonna build the stronghold in here originally. The cliff’s front’s got a strategic advantage. Never would’ve worked, though. Not unless they fancied living like actual cavemen.”

The floor beneath them was sloping again. Marko took his steps with great care. “S’that why they built a tunnel from the outskirts, then?”

“Yeah. Before they started work on the stronghold, most of the rebels lived in the old city.” Vuk took a long pause; it almost seemed like there was more he wanted to say, but he chose not to. “We’ve come a long way since then. You’ll see for yourself soon, anyway.”

“If we ever get outta here, ya mean.” Marko muttered, eyes rolling a bit.

Walking in the dark, without having much of a clue as to where the end of the route might be was, somehow, more tiring than trekking through the snow. The lack of any kind of sunlight, even stuck behind thick cloud, meant that it was impossible to tell what time of day it was. The only thing that really gave much indication was how much of the wooden plank in Vuk’s hand there was left to burn.

Marko’s body ached all over. A few times, he almost slipped on the ground as it dipped beneath his blistered feet. The arm carrying Ion had gone numb; it was remarkable that he hadn’t already dropped the boy. He couldn’t help but think, after a good long while - what if that tunnel had no end? Not that it was possible, but even the rational part of his brain wasn’t toying with the notion at that point.

Some ways down, two openings crossed the passage, which indicated there was truth in what Vuk had said about the caves being on a grid system. Expectantly, Marko watched the other man, waiting for him to choose which way for them to go from there. Whether it was because their destination was ‘east’ and it was the most natural path to take with that in mind, or just because of a ‘hunch’ again, he chose the one on their direct left.

“What time d’ya think it is?” Marko asked, once they’d continued on their way. It was weird - he’d managed to get to the point where talking to Vuk, even just throwing (inane) questions out at him like that, was far preferable to over thinking the ‘what ifs’ and other difficulties of their situation.

“Who knows?” Vuk answered, blasé. “Why’s it matter, anyway? Might take us longer to get to the capital through here, but I still think we’ll get there by sundown.”

Marko sighed a bit. “‘cause, I’m tired. We’ve been on our feet since before dawn, and I haven’t eaten anythin’ since yesterday mornin’.”

A tutting noise bounced off the tunnel walls. “Thought you Omegas could pack away energy for as long as we can. Longer, even.”

“I take suppressants, remember?”

“The hell? They affect you in that way, too, huh?”

Bristled, Marko glared a hole in the back of Vuk’s head. “Yeah.” Lips spread into a hard line, he added, “And even if I wasn’t takin’ ‘em, I wouldn’t be able to keep goin’ any longer than _you_ would. Omegas don’t typically expend the kind of energy Alphas d--”

“Yeah, yeah.” Vuk interjected, sounding bored. “I gottit. Had all that shit drilled into my head by the program already.”

“You were wrong about it, though.” Marko said, monotonously.

“What, about a minor detail?” After letting out an abrupt snicker, Vuk twisted his head for a moment to look back over his shoulder. “Being a medic doesn’t get you a free pass to be anal about that kinda stuff, y’know.”

Marko, despite being annoyed by what had been said, didn’t respond. He had to wonder if he wasn’t just plain angry with Vuk now purely because he didn’t have it in him to do so. His body was becoming more and more sluggish with each passing minute; his limbs and his lungs were beyond worn out.

A little later on, Vuk spoke again, with a less harsher tone. “You can take a breather up there.”

 _Up where?_ Marko had no idea what he was talking about. Not until Vuk had stopped, where another opening split off their path. Thinking he was going to take the turn, Marko waited for the man to make his move. But once he’d caught up to him, he spied something at the far end of the passage ahead (which, from the edge of the new opening, stopped sloping down and instead crept upwards in what appeared to be a staircase): a pale circle of light.

Marko slipped past Vuk and put one foot on the lowest step, before beginning to climb up. The further to the top he got, the brighter the light - he winced, his eyes having gotten used to the darkness of the tunnels. The fresh, cold air was blowing in through the hole; it washed away the musty water scent and Marko didn’t think he could suck it into his lungs fast enough.

He set Ion down a little ways from the top, slumping into a seat on the same step. The boy readjusted the blanket around himself, his little legs kicking out from under it until he’d covered himself back up. Marko exhaled, shoulders dropping in a heavy slump. It was going to take longer than a few mere minutes for him to recuperate. He eyed Vuk as the Alpha started to make his way up the steps himself. No doubt he wouldn’t keep them seated there for very long. Marko had always thought himself pretty resilient, but he wasn’t sure how much more of this journey he could take.

“S’not far now.” Vuk said, dropping the torch to his feet and stamping out the fire on it. Marko was about to ask him why he’d done that, when he realised there wasn’t much of the wooden plank left to burn. “Unless you’ve got anything else to burn, I’m gonna need to use your lighter from here on out.”

“ _Y’sure_ it’s not far from here?” Marko asked, voice strained. He wanted to believe it wasn’t far, but there was still the nagging doubt that Vuk admitting he didn’t know where to go had given him.

“Hey, if you don’t wanna hear it from me, you can always take a look for yourself.” Vuk shrugged a bit, and motioned towards the light.

This time, Marko understood what he was talking about before he’d found the energy to move up a few steps and poke his head over the edge of the opening. Whereas he was expecting to hate the sight that awaited him, at that point, he was somewhat glad, because indeed, it did mean that the end of their trip was close.

They had reached the vast cliff face that overlooked Utopia’s western vicinity. Through the brisk, icy wind that whipped past Marko’s face as he stared outwards was their destination: the capital.

 


	8. Chapter 8

From the face of the cliff, it was possible to see Utopia in its entirety, even with the northern chill present; it threatened to bring low-hanging fog, and perhaps sleet (snow never settled inside the city). Seeing the capital from an above view was very different from seeing its silhouette fade away into the dark from the back window of an SUV - but the memory was jogged in Marko’s mind all the same; it _had_ been the last time he’d seen the place, after all.

It was common knowledge that the area the city was built upon was almost completely flat; after the drop of the cliff and the rest of the hilly land that marked the edge of The North, arable floodplains and marshland began. Vast farmland sat at both the north and south of the city’s borders - where the southern Utopian farms ended, the political South began.

On the far right of the view, the river cut across the western vicinity - open, empty plains deemed too close to the cliff to continue to expand upon. At the point where the river met the city’s borders, it was split into two, diverted around the centre, creating an island in the very middle of the city. Said island was the metropolis in which Utopia’s elite lived, densely packed with tall buildings, some of which reached much further into the skies than the cliff did. Distinctive of the city’s skyline was the long, thin broadcasting tower situated in the exact middle - it stretched far above even the highest habitable buildings.

Beyond the tower sat a familiar structure, and the tallest of all - HQ’s seat of ‘government’ and adjoining barracks; it was the highly risen section of this building, overlooking the rest of the city, that had once been the home of every Alpha and Omega. Even from afar it looked hollow. It was easy, then, to wonder what use HQ would still have for hundreds upon hundreds of empty ‘apartments’ - after all, automata didn’t need living quarters like ‘human’ soldiers did. Marko considered it for a short moment; he was somewhat surprised that part of the building hadn’t been torn down.

Another distinct and renowned building was located on the western side of the centre. This one in particular was remarkable in its appearance. The proximity of its land was vast, and a flat stone plaza that stretched a considerable way separated it from both the streets and the other central buildings. A wall ran at each edge of the vacant space, though it was almost impossible to see from the cliff with the naked eye. A select group of military police guarded the single gate that split the eastern wall, and it seemed safe to assume automata would have been stationed there too. Everything within the closed-off expanse was the Royal Estate; the building inside was the palace, the residence of Royal Family. Situated in the western-most third of the plaza area, the building itself was a long, thin, rectangular shape; like the rest of the city, it was blocky, with straight-cut walls and a flat roof, yet it still retained great individuality. Whereas most of Utopia, old and new, had been constructed with dark brickwork, the palace was made of pale stone, and arches of marble, salvaged from the palace of the old city, skirted around the ground floor. The palace’s gardens were only flecks of green inside the city’s radius - outdoor space was a luxury even the homes of the elite weren’t granted.

At either side of the river’s division, the buildings gradually decreased in size, until those on the outskirts were tiny dots from the above view, yet their spacing didn’t change much. The port was only just identifiable in the distance, perched on the very edge of the coastline. From Vuk’s description, Marko had assumed the stronghold was in that area, but he couldn’t seem to pick out any other distinguishing features, such as the walls, to locate it with. Not that it mattered. He didn’t think seeing the stronghold would make him feel any better about seeing the city as a whole. Awe-inspiring as the sight was, he still thought of it as a hellhole.

He turned around again and shuffled a couple of steps further down, eyes seeking out Vuk in the dimness. “So, once we get to the stronghold, what then?” He asked, aware that his voice was droning.

“What d’ya mean ‘what then’?” Vuk managed to match his tone.

It was something Marko wished he’d brought up sooner, but thinking about it, he supposed he hadn’t had much of a chance to do so. “Like, what’s gonna happen to me, and to Ion? I don’t have a home in the stronghold, or in the rest of the city.”

Vuk said nothing in response - not at first. It wasn’t easy to make out his expression in the dark, but he seemed to be taking the time to give it some thought. “There’s not a lot of room in the stronghold. Most of us live with our packs or relatives, even some pairs with kids have to share with others.” Another pause. “ _You_ can stay with my family. As for Ion, I don’t know.”

“Your family?” Marko repeated. He recalled that Vuk had mentioned his family being the reason he headed to the outpost in The North - didn’t his family consist of his younger brothers? “They’re both Alphas, aren’t they? Ya sure that’s okay?”

“So long as you’re taking suppressants, my brothers won’t bother you, and you won’t bother them.” Vuk snorted. “Anyway, they’re not my only family under that roof. The older of ‘em’s married, so his wife lives with us too.”

It took Marko longer than a moment to wrap his head around that; as much as he wanted to get back onto the topic of what was going to happen to Ion, he had to ask: “Wait. Your brother’s an Alpha, and he’s married to a woman?”

“He’s married to a sterile ex-warden about seven years older than he is.” Vuk replied, rather flippantly. “We try not to tease him too hard for it.”

Marko coughed a bit. “So, uh. There’s really nowhere Ion can go?” He glanced down for a moment at the small boy. Was the stronghold so overpopulated that there really wasn’t room for him? He found that hard to believe. “I mean, if you’ve got room for me, why not Ion, too?”

Once again, Vuk didn’t speak for a short time. When he did, he was quieter than before. “You’re not a little kid, and at that, you’re not a little kid that’s faced enough trauma to turn him mute. So, s’not really just about finding space for him. He needs someone that’ll take care of him.” Another pause; he huffed a breath out through his nose. “There’s an orphanage in the stronghold, but there’s a whole fucking lot of kids in there already. Guess we could try finding a family that’d take him in, but that could take a while.”

Given that response, it seemed Vuk was ruling himself out of the equation as well, for whatever reason. Marko supposed he had to do the same with himself - if he was going to depart back to The North to assume his life as his village’s doctor, then he wouldn’t have the time or the resources to take care of Ion - not by himself.

What did Ion, himself, think of this, Marko wondered. Surely he understood what was being said? His face - or what could be made out of it - didn’t give much away. Would he nod or shake his head if either of them asked him anything about it directly?

But a second later, before he could think of anything to ask, something occurred to Marko. He raised his head to look towards Vuk again. “Hey, HQ’re lookin’ for you and me, but they’re not gonna seek Ion out, are they?”

Vuk shrugged. “Dunno why they would. Only thing is, they might have him on record as part of that ‘ring’. Why?”

“Erzsébet and her husband, they look after a bunch of kids. Although...” Marko realised then that there was something he’d overlooked. “Her husband’s part of the elite, and he really only takes in kids abandoned by others like him.” Pensive, he bit on the nail of his thumb. “I think it’s worth a shot askin’ ‘em, anyway.”

“They live in the centre?” Unsurprisingly, Vuk sounded sceptical.

“Where else would they live?”

The Alpha went quiet again. “It’s ‘worth a shot’. Yeah, okay - if we can get _into_ the centre to get Ion there, you mean.”

The centre, asides from being isolated by the river, had guarded barriers on every bridge across. Even if they _weren’t_ on the run, just getting into the centre without being a member of the elite would have been a difficult task.

“Doesn’t the rebellion have a back door in, or somethin’ like that?”

In a matter-of-fact tone, Vuk replied, “Yeah. The underpinnings and the sewers. And those’re guarded too for that reason.”

Marko grimaced. He’d already had enough of wandering around underground to last him a long time, and they had yet to leave the cave system. Even if it was to get Ion to a safe place, crawling around in the sewers wasn’t a preferable way to do it. “Er, any other ways in at all?”

“We can figure it out once we get to the stronghold.” Was the dismissive answer. “Speaking of which, we’re gonna need to get our asses back in gear to get there. You got that lighter?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Though Marko’s legs (and the rest of his body, for that matter) still hurt, he pulled himself up out of his seat, plucking the lighter out of his pocket again and passing it to Vuk. As much as he hated the capital, he was getting sick enough of the caves to want to get out as soon as possible.

Time drifted on. When Marko had looked out upon Utopia, it had still been light out; regardless it hadn’t been possible to tell exactly what hour of the day it was. Vuk hadn’t said anything about them running too late to get there before nightfall, which Marko was sure he would have, if that was the case. A few times, he felt like he should ask anyway, even if it was just to stop that same silence that had come between the two of them many times already. He said nothing instead.

Like before, Vuk walked ahead with the lighter in hand. Marko expected it would run out at some point, and began to think of items in the rucksack that could be burnt as another makeshift torch. He considered the bottle of vodka, and possibly a piece of torn clothing, but that sounded far more risky than beneficial.

Ion walked alongside them. Marko wasn’t sure he had quite enough energy left in his upper body to carry him, even though he wasn’t all that heavy. He could only hope there weren’t any jagged stones on the tunnel floor that might hurt his feet. He winced a bit at the idea.

A short time after they’d reached a flatter part of the tunnel, Vuk stopped walking. Two openings cut left and right, but straight ahead was a solid wall - which he approached and shone the lighter upon. Marko poked his head over the other man’s shoulder in curiosity. He looked to be scanning the wall for something in particular, which he must have caught a glimpse of before, as he honed in on it almost at once: a small, scratchy engraving of a left-pointing arrow, and next to it, a **V** shape. Though Marko didn’t recognise this symbol, it must have meant something to Vuk, as he wasted no time in heading into the tunnel it pointed down.

“What was that markin’? Directions?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Basically.” Came the blunt reply. Marko had been hoping he might elaborate. He still wondered about the **V** , and almost asked what it was, but Vuk spoke again before he could do so. “This is the tunnel that runs by the river. Once we reach the end, we’ll be in the old city.”

Marko hadn’t forgotten about the probability of the exit being guarded. Perhaps, he thought, Vuk already had a plan for getting around whoever or whatever was waiting for them. They’d already managed to get themselves out of a few difficult situations and if their luck was going to run out, he had a hunch that it was going to be when they’d reached the city - at their last hurdle.

As Marko had predicted would happen, some ways down, the little flame on the lighter withered and died, plunging them into complete darkness. All three of them stood still at the very same moment, the sound of their footsteps disappearing with the light. At Marko’s side, he felt Ion’s fingers grasping onto the hem of his coat.

Vuk could be heard hissing through his teeth. “ _Shit_.” He then said, abruptly. “Stay still.” Before Marko even thought to ask why he had to ‘stay still’, Vuk spoke again over the sound of his feet shuffling backwards, “Grab hold of Ion and gimme your other hand.”

So, he wanted them to form a chain? Marko couldn’t help but snort at that. Regardless, he reached down to take Ion’s hand off his coat, holding onto it instead. “There’s only one way to go, and that’s forwards.”

“I don’t want you falling behind and managing to turn the wrong way and get lost.” Vuk replied, sounding somewhat disdainful.

Frowning, Marko outstretched his hand. It took Vuk a couple of attempts to feel around for it, but when he’d found it, he slipped the cold metal lighter back into his palm; only after that did he get a firm grip on Marko’s wrist. His fingers were frigid and his skin coarse; Marko remembered then the cuts that both of his hands had suffered the night he’d broken him out of the HQ vehicle.

“How’re your hands?” He decided to ask, once they’d started to walk again. “I kinda forgot you’d gotten ‘em cut up.”

Vuk paused. It almost seemed at first like he wasn’t going to answer at all. “They’re fine.”

“And your arm?” Marko pressed.

“S’not bothering me.” The Alpha was dismissive as before, but then, once he’d let a small silence come between them, he added coolly, “I’ve had worse.”

Though Marko didn’t doubt his words, he wondered what the ‘worse’ could have been. Vuk didn’t have any glaring scars, or any injuries such as walking impediments or issues with his balance. “In The South?”

A short exhale left Vuk’s nose; it sounded like he was about to laugh bitterly at that. “Many places.” It became apparent in the quiet that followed once again he didn’t feel like divulging the details of the injuries _or_ the ‘many places’ he’d obtained them in. Marko was ready to consider that fair enough, but then, Vuk spoke again, “What about you? You’re a medic, so you probably ended up in some tight spots, too.”

 _No kidding_ , Marko thought. The question had come as a surprise; Vuk hadn’t seemed interested in a lot of what Marko had to say until then. Deciding to match the other’s blasé contempt, he lowered his voice, “I gotta few battle scars, I guess.” _Understatement of the year, maybe_ , he added, to himself.

“When’d you start on the field?” Came the next prompt question.

It took Marko a moment to jog his memory for the exact date, even if he recalled the day with clarity. The way time passed in the program felt obscurely different from how it passed outside of it. “My fifteenth birthday.”

“Fast learner, then?”

He felt the edges of his lips twitch up a bit. “ _Basically_.”

The Alpha was quiet once more, and Marko found it safe to assume he’d caught onto the fact he was mimicking his previous offhandedness on purpose. If Vuk didn’t want to elaborate on his answers, Marko figured he might as well act the same.

Then again, he couldn’t help but wonder... “Ya really wanna know, or are ya just deflectin’ the questions so ya don’t have to answer mine?”

Judging by the fact the silence continued a little longer than expected after that, his assumption appeared correct.

“You’re an anomaly, so...” When Vuk spoke, he spoke with a slowness that made it sound as if the words were paining him to say. Marko could only imagine the scowl that was on his face. “S’kinda hard, not to wanna ask.”

“‘An anomaly’, huh? Dunno whether I should be flattered or not.”

“You left the capital to live in the middle of fucking nowhere.” Was the acute response. “And in doing that, you started popping suppressants so you could live like a normal human. To me, that’s weird.”

“S’not that weird.” Strange as he found it, Marko was a little more amused than at all offended at that. “Must be hundreds of Omegas takin’ suppressants in the capital. There wouldn’t be a constant supply of ‘em if there wasn’t.”

Vuk’s tone became more rigid, “They take ‘em for short periods of time to make things easier for themselves, they don’t take ‘em so they can pretend to be something they’re not! You covered your symbol with a bandage, and you even changed your Goddamn _name_ , so don’t gimme that shit.”

Another thing that Marko had almost forgotten about was, indeed, how hostile and just plain _angry_ Vuk had been with him for the majority of their journey, all due to the choices Marko had made following the project’s dissolution. Vuk had been less prickly until the topic came back up, so it was plain to see that it was the source of his moody behaviour.

He considered what he’d said the last few times: ‘I’m not your responsibility’, ‘I didn’t ask for you to save me’, and the like. The more Vuk reacted in that way, the less inclined Marko was to believe he was pissed off solely because Marko had put himself in an unsafe position - but unless the Alpha was hiding something, that was also the only reason that made sense.

“Are ya...” Marko began to say, keeping his tone soft. “Are ya mad ‘cause of that? ‘Cause I tried to ‘pretend to be somethin’ I’m not’?”

Though Vuk said nothing, there was a tension about him, which either indicated a very obvious ‘yes’, or that he’d gotten irritated to the point he wasn’t going to answer at all. Marko didn’t think himself good enough at reading the man (or, people in general, really - he’d never been good at telling what others were thinking) to know for certain.

Onwards they walked; they cleared a good number of yards before Vuk said anything more. There was still a thickness in the air about him, but his words were clearer and less sour, “When the program ended, we all had to stick together to get by. Even if we outnumbered the humans in the rebellion, we had to rely on them, too. We still do.” He inhaled deep. “It’s not just the rebels, though. We’re at HQ’s mercy most of the damned time. They could band together automata and take the stronghold apart, and we’d probably lose hundreds trying to stop ‘em. For sure, they’d probably kill any humans and Alphas on sight and take the Omegas for working into their filthy elite.” Marko could have sworn in that moment that his hand gripped around his wrist tighter. “S’like they’ve forced us into a stalemate. They’re making an elite of our kind so they’ll be protected from the rebellion, but why they don’t attack us head on’s probably for the same reason.”

Marko recalled the conversation they’d had at the fireside the day before. At that time, Vuk hadn’t explained the effects on both sides like that, so it had left him somewhat in the dark on the matter - though Marko himself hadn’t realised until that moment; the sheer surprise of it all had taken priority over the more detailed logic of it. “Thought ya said that was just a theory.”

“It is - a _theory_. We don’t know for sure, but it’s not a baseless accusation either.” An exasperated exhale. “I digress. Fact is, we all had to band together to get by. You - _you_ found yourself a way outta there. S’like.” Once again his caustic voice started to find its way out. “S’like you abandoned us.”

So that was how Vuk had interpreted what Marko had done? Given his explanation, he supposed he could understand it. A guilty discomfort flourished inside him - but he wasn’t ready to believe he’d made the wrong decision for himself, just from hearing that. “I’m uh.” He began, a little meek. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“But you’re not sorry you did it.”

Marko snorted. At that moment, he felt like ripping his hand out of Vuk’s hold. “Dunno how ya expect me to be. I made my own choice, to lead my own life the way I wanted. Ya got a problem with that, then you’re the one who's gotta deal with it.” He couldn’t have cared less if Vuk didn’t understand him.

After a while, they found a small slither of dull light up ahead in the tunnel. Once more, Marko was both relieved, and dreading what was up there. Relieved, as it meant an end to the awkward silence that had fallen between him and Vuk once again due to their conversation, and in apprehension, as both the capital and the unpleasantries it contained were up there. His body, also, had yet to become less tired. The tunnels were not an ideal sanctuary, but they were the last place that was at all _safe_. They weren’t just stepping back out into the open, they were stepping into the lion’s den - whether it was military police or automata out there, Vuk had said _every_ exit would be guarded.

There was a solid wall at the end of the tunnel. A little less than a metre above their heads, where the light dropped down from, wooden panelling sat atop a carved hole. Vuk let go of Marko’s wrist; a dimmed beam from upwards fell onto his face as he tilted it to examine the way out. Then, suddenly, he raised his hand and jumped, knocking the ‘lid’ open with a creak. His hand grabbed the edge of the opening and the panelling fell back down on his hand with a clunk; he dangled there for a moment before pulling himself up, using mostly the one uninjured arm, his legs, and a remarkable lack of grace.

Once up enough, he pushed on the hatch with his back; it dropped open on its hinges and fell to the other side with a crack. _Not a great start,_ Marko thought, wincing at the noise as he pocketed his empty lighter. He noticed, however, that it was a room above - though it wasn’t well-lit, he could see a plain ceiling. Did the tunnel lead to and from someone’s house?

Vuk reappeared; he leant some ways over the edge and extended down his good arm. “Lift Ion up first.”

Marko ducked down and tucked an arm underneath Ion, before lifting him up as instructed. “Everythin’s okay up there, then?” He still didn’t know what Vuk was planning from then on, but given that he’d asked for Ion, it didn’t seem like there was any immediate danger.

The boy grabbed onto Vuk, who lifted him through whilst putting Marko’s question on hold. After having set Ion down out there, the Alpha leant back through again. “I’ll check outside once you’re up here. Gimme the stuff on your back first.”

Slipping the rucksack off his shoulder, Marko decided it was time to ask the burning question, “So, if there’s anythin’ or anyone out there, what’s your plan?”

Once the rucksack had been pulled over, Vuk discarded it to one side. Straightforward, he answered, “No clue.”

Marko felt like letting out a heavy sigh. “We’re just gonna make a break for it, then?” He reached for the Alpha’s hand when it was extended down, gripping it firmly and setting a foot on the side wall; he pushed as Vuk pulled, and it wasn’t easy, but he managed to get his free hand over the edge. Once he’d done that, he only had to get the one leg over and the rest of his weight followed.

He tumbled over onto a cold stone floor, from which a jagged rim had been cut to form the tunnel’s threshold. The room they were in was barren and carried a scent of rot, not unlike the stagnant water scent from the cave system; upon further inspection, the plaster on the ceiling was peeling and the plain drywall was in a state of disrepair. _Definitely_ the capital, then. An uncomfortable twinge started to form in his stomach.

The room itself had no windows, a doorless arch lead through to the next room and there was a small one hung on the wall in there. A patch of daylight could be seen, but it was fading fast; being winter, the night would fall early, but Vuk had done as he’d said and had gotten them there before dark.

Marko sat up, and Vuk kicked the hatch back shut. “If HQ know about this exit, how come it’s not sealed?”

“ _Psht._ They’ve sealed it before. They just can’t make seals strong enough to not be broken by us.” Was the nonchalant reply. Vuk began to walk towards the doorway. “If it lead straight to the centre or somewhere like that, maybe they’d put in more of an effort. Easier for ‘em to trap us in at either end, like they’re probably doing right about now.” Before he got to the doorway, he picked up the rucksack and turned back towards Marko. “You got any of your stuff left in there? Might be an idea to leave anything you don’t need.”

More than certain that the tent had been broken when they’d fallen through the shaft, Marko eyed the rucksack once before patting each of his pockets. The suppressants and his lighter were all in their rightful places. After that, he rose to his feet. “There’s only the clothes and the campin’ stuff in there.”

Vuk began to walk again. Marko and Ion followed after. The room with the window was a narrow hallway, but the window, which backed onto a high stone wall, had not been the main source of light from the hatch room as Marko had previously suspected. Instead, the end of the hallway opened with another arch, through which was the shell of barely half of a room; its far walls were torn, their internal beams sticking out like broken, exposed bones. Remnants of the roof were strewn across the floor, and other structures in similar disrepair were visible beyond.

“Stay here and keep low.” Vuk said, before they got to the end of the hallway. With caution, he stepped across the open room, to where a piece of the crumbling wall was still intact. He set the rucksack down and squatted, so that the wall was covering him. Then, he poked his head slowly over the side, just for a moment, before ducking back down.

Marko had crouched down in the meantime. He glanced out at the shadowy shapes of the other buildings a couple of times. They were small and hollow-looking, he wondered if they were at all occupied. No doubt this was the old city (as Vuk had called it): the underpinnings of Utopia. The ‘new’ city was constructed upon tiered supports - the river was tidal and had the potential to overflow.  In the distance, above the tall stone wall the buildings of that row backed up onto, a higher row of structures was just visible - the very edge of ‘liveable’ Utopia. The old city hadn't been demolished, but rather, left to rot away. That explained the stench, though there was no visible mould or flood damage where they were; the rebels, when constructing their tunnel in and out, must have considered the proximity to the river whilst maintaining a way to run the tunnel next to it. There was also light from the sky in that area, which meant they had to have been on the farthest outskirts of the capital.

Flopping with his back against the wall, Vuk waved Marko over. Bearing in mind the fact they had to keep down, he began to crawl over on his knees and forearms, conscious of the shards of rubble beneath him.

“They’re out there.” The Alpha muttered. A prominent scowl had found its way back onto his face.

“ _They_?” Marko thought he knew what he was referring to, but he wanted to make sure.

“Automata. Spotted at least two. There’s probably more, they tend to sweep through this area on patrol anyway.”

The little bit of hope that military police were out there instead of automata was struck down. “Figures.” Marko grumbled beneath his breath.

“They’re waiting for us to try to sneak out.” Vuk folded his arms. He was starting to sound defeated; he exhaled, “Thought they might’ve attracted attention by now.”

“They want us alive though, right? So, they’re not gonna be under orders just to shoot blindly.” They hadn’t yet spent five minutes in the capital, and already Marko was convinced he’d stepped back into literal Hell on Earth.

Vuk snorted. “They want _you_ alive.” He let his arms drop either side of himself again, ready to push himself up. He twisted his head in the direction of the wall, which continued past the building and its neighbour. He grit his teeth. “ _Shit._ ”

The air in Utopia was never particularly ‘fresh’; fumes from the factory district caked the outskirts in smog whenever the wind blew a certain way, but even with the dank scent that hung around, it seemed cool and clear enough in comparison to the stale air in the caves. Marko sucked in a deep breath, and listened to the distant sounds of the city. He picked up on a muted _thud, thud, thud_ , which no doubt came from an automata. How close was it?

His gaze travelled towards the wall as well. One word came to mind: _impulse. Why’re you relying on Vuk for a way out?_ , He asked himself, _You’ve pulled it off before._ The night he’d left his village came to mind. It hadn’t even been a week since then, but it felt like such a long time.

_They’re just automata. They’re not like us. They can’t compare. They’re imperfect._

“I’ll distract ‘em.” Marko sprung to his feet and darted towards the wall; he didn’t want to wait for Vuk to object or physically stop him. He called back, whilst grabbing onto the top of the wall, “You figure out a way through.”

In the corner of his eye, he saw Vuk move, in the brief moments before he’d hitched himself over the cold stone division and dropped down onto the other side, landing in a half-kneel. Any thoughts of how Vuk would have been reacting to his sudden actions were removed from his mind the second he’d looked up again. On that side of the wall was a short (yet fairly broad, considering how compact the buildings were) street. He could see a large metal-looking object moving in his peripheral vision far to the left, but more to his concern was the one barely a few yards away. If he’d been in a position to make a break for it by himself, the circumstances would have been perfect; the nearest piece of junk - a regular seven-footer - had its back to him, and was lumbering back up the street.

Staying very still otherwise, Marko’s hand slipped down to the ground at the very bottom of the wall; the area was unkempt, and patches of moss had formed there - he pinched a small pebble between his fingers and then grasped onto it tight.

Once he’d risen back up, he took a few hurried steps forward, until he’d reached the middle of the street. He had to fight the urge to look back; to check if Vuk was actually watching and taking note of what he was doing.

_One shot. Don’t fuck this up._

He whipped his arm back and launched the pebble at the back of the automata’s headset. The little _clunk_ that followed as the little rock ricocheted off and echoed across the street and its derelict buildings. A pang of dread akin to a sense of ‘you shouldn’t have done that’ made itself present inside Marko’s chest and the depths of his throat - but fear didn’t follow it. A surge of adrenaline and courage did.

“Lookin’ for me, ya lump of metal shit!?” He raised his voice just short of a raw bellow, so he could hear himself over the sound of the blood pumping through his ears.

The automata’s ‘feet’ thumped on the ground as it turned to face Marko, its headset light blinking. Before anything else, it lifted and pointed its rifle directly at him. As expected, it didn’t touch the trigger, but Marko braced himself out of instinct regardless. Its companion down the street seemed to have taken notice of the sudden commotion, as its laboured steps could be heard - and felt - approaching from behind.

In a situation like that one, vulnerability would have been a normal sensation. Marko glanced towards the ruined homes on his left; they were so close to one another that there was no indication of any path that cut through them. As the automata drew in, he looked back at the one in front, catching a glimpse of another making its way over from down the street. They weren’t wasting time, but they also seemed to be taking care; perhaps they were programmed to act orderly, to not cause any great levels of commotion. How they were closing in on him didn’t matter, though - what mattered was that he’d gotten himself sandwiched between them. He stood as still as he could, his limbs tensing, and he gazed directly into the blinding light of the headset that faced him.

It occurred to Marko a moment later that perhaps the automata weren’t approaching him with any sort of care or caution, but rather, were biding their time whilst they sent a signal notifying an official in range. That, and they had yet to catch sight of Vuk. Since they hadn’t seen Marko hop over the wall, it was probable they hadn’t processed that their other target was behind there. Why HQ had ever considered ‘artificial intelligence’ lacking in rational thought to be a good idea was indeed a mystery.

A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead, a stark contrast to the brisk cold. Eyes trailing down from the headset, he caught sight of the small window of space between the two automata ahead. His legs moved before he could even think about making a break for it properly.

 _They won’t shoot._ That thought was what drove him forwards; he darted through the gap, though in the corner of his eye he saw the nearest automata turn with just as much haste. He ran as fast as his already sore feet would carry him. Once the heavy thudding began to follow him, he grit his teeth, pushing onwards in spite of any protests from his tired (not to mention very much open) body. If the automata had their attention on him - if he could distract them for long enough - it was an opportunity for Vuk to get out. The Alpha would just have to find his own way around.

It came as no surprise to Marko that, when he’d swung around the street corner, several more automata were on the approach. Instead of stopping to consider which way to turn next, he pressed on straight through their flank. Just the same as before, each one turned and began its pursuit of him - one after another. Having to quite literally think on his feet, the possibility of heading down the street with the lived-in homes and cutting back around so he’d have gone in a circle came to mind. Whether it was plausible at all was a different matter.

His chest was tight and heavy; he was certain he could move faster but after having been on his feet all day maintaining a speed that was greater than that of the automata was impossible.

When he realised there was no longer a chance Vuk could catch their attention, he slowed where the street with the homes began, pivoting on his heel to face the automata again. Weapons raised in a more hostile manner than before, they also slowed. As Marko stepped backwards, they stepped forwards. With a quick glance over each one, he counted their number: eight, an average number for a set. He didn’t doubt there could be more nearby, though.

Turning the corner after the automata in a brisk jog was a greyish-red suited man - someone Marko had expected might show up sooner or later. Briefly, he was reminded of the night back at his village where he’d found himself in a similar situation. This time, though, he didn’t think he could give himself up quite so easily.

The stare the official gave him as he stepped forwards was one of confusion. No doubt he was wondering why Marko had decided to stop running. Curtly, his voice cutting across the muted, sounds of the city, he asked, “The other one, the Alpha - where is he?”

Marko said nothing. He drew in short breaths through his lips, trying to recover from the sprint.

A frown crossed the official’s face, and his eyes, though they flickered in that next moment, narrowed to slits. He whipped around to face the automata, and when he spoke again, Marko realised he’d figured out what he’d done. “Idiot machines! Go! Find the A--”

It didn’t register in Marko’s mind what had cut short the man’s speech at first, but he knew that the loud, distinct cracking noise that echoed in his ears, rattling his bones and making his heart drop, was something to do with it. He watched as the official’s body became frigid, just for a split second before it slumped straight to the ground. Then, he saw the seeping blood, and as the man’s head lolled to the side, the evident open wound just above his temple.

“ _Oi!_ You okay down there?”

The voice was bright, and almost arrived with a sing-song tone. It drifted down from the very top of a nearby flat-roofed abode - one that, like its neighbours, was run-down and dreary in appearance despite its occupied status, though it didn’t appear there was currently anyone home. Based on the angle of the shot wound, this was where the bullet had also come from. Only after bearing this in mind did Marko realise that the question shouted out was more than likely directed at him - and only then did he comprehend that the sudden task of distraction he’d given himself had taken a toll on his already tired body. He forced himself to look up towards the roof of the building to his left. But there was no sign of anyone there.

The automata didn’t seem to care they couldn’t see their new target, whoever it was. In sync with each other, barely seconds after their official had hit the ground, they raised their firearms at the roof and began to shoot. Pellets ricocheted in a near-deafening sequence against the building’s top, creating holes in the structure and shattering one of the higher story windows. Marko didn’t stick close to the scene to watch, instead opting for clearing some more distance between himself and the automata.

Moments after he’d taken off, a thundering explosion rocked the street. He staggered, almost tripping up; his stomach lurched upwards into his throat and he scrambled to keep his balance, throwing a stare back over his shoulder. The automata’s line of fire ceased, and they had been tossed apart from one another. They clattered to the ground in burning, smoking clumps, the weight of their shells shattering the street’s tarmac and the sides of the nearest buildings.

Ears ringing from the noise, Marko stalled and turned, beginning to back up at a slow pace as he had done before. Though the automata (true to their creators’ claim of having impenetrable armour) remained intact, the corpse of the official was not spared from the blast. The blood, bone and innards that weren’t burnt away at first splattered across the scene, tarnishing the dulled metal of the soldier units and the ground below.

Once the automata were down, the person on the roof wasted no time in firing downwards again. This time, they aimed for the one specific weak point of the automata: their ‘achilles’ heel’ - the scanner in the centre of the headset. Though typically ‘invincible’ beings, automata relied on their scanners as a means of seeing and ingesting data, and subsequently the inner mechanics of their headsets processed this. Therefore, destroying an automata’s scanner would render it useless, whilst also posing a threat to the internal equipment behind it - until the unit would be collected by HQ and taken back to their barracks for repair, at least.

He tore his eyes away from the chaos, not exactly wanting to keep them on the mess the official’s insides had made. It was something he’d seen once or twice before in his past, and though he’d somehow managed to become desensitised to the sight of splayed innards, naturally it didn’t settle well with him. Marko eyed instead the darkened silhouette of a man, crouched upon the corner of the roof that had been battered with bullets from the automata previously. He couldn’t quite make out anything about his appearance - the early dusk that hung above managed to mask his features, but it was easy to tell his weapon was a long, thin shotgun, and that his head was bowed close to the barrel to give him as good of an aim as possible.

The man fired one shot after another. A couple missed, and clinked off the headset of the automata directly below him. Once he’d gotten a direct hit the scanner cracked, smoke wafting up from the broken section. The automata stopped trying to get to its feet and it laid straight back down in a motionless flop. Whoever the figure up there was, he knew how to take an automata out with efficiency. Was he a part of the rebellion? That seemed like a safe enough assumption.

It was highly unlikely the man on the roof had also thrown the device that had caused the explosion, which occurred to Marko in the few moments after the second and third automata had been brought down. As if on par with this sudden realisation of his, another sequence of shots from straight up ahead began, this time directed at the units on the right side of the street. Five were down, then seven - then the final one in the middle, which had been provided with enough time to stand upright again, was finished with just as much ease as the rest.

And then, the street was plunged back into silence - save for the fizzing and popping of one or two headsets.

The man on the roof took a short while to recuperate, whilst fixing his weapon to his back. He then hitched his leg over the edge of the building, and shuffled down until he was dangling off by his hands. With barely a few metres space from the ground, he let himself drop down, landing comfortably on the balls of his feet. Meanwhile, from beyond the malfunctioning bodies strewn across the street, another male figure walked forwards; it almost seemed like he’d appeared from nowhere.

Following his landing, the man from the roof turned to face Marko; he then called across the street, his voice matched the one from before, loud and clear, “ _Hey_! Hey!!” Barely moments after he’d started to speak up, he began to jog around the automata and towards Marko, who had only just realised he’d been stopped shifting backwards and had been glued to the spot since the men had opened fire.

Now that Marko could see the two of them together, it became obvious that they weren’t just two men working together. Both of them were strikingly similar in appearance; the soft coffee colour of their hair was the same, as were the off-nut-brown jackets they wore. As they grew nearer, the features of their faces also became apparent: strong jawlines and hooded eyes beneath curly bangs - in fact, there was nothing at all different about them at first glance, save for the hair of the man who’d come from the distance, which was - though just as tousled as the other’s - shoulder-length and drawn back into a ponytail.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” There was an undertone of genuine concern in the voice of the man from the roof; the expression on his face also matched this. He stood a few feet away from Marko, and folded his arms across his chest before shaking his head a little and letting out a sigh, “ _Ayy,_ those things usually don’t wait around like that.”

Marko was still in a somewhat dazed state. He replied croakily, “I’m - yeah, I’m fine.”

The man’s twin spoke with a cooler, quieter tone, and came to a halt some yards away, his shotgun still in hand. “Who are you?” He asked. “And why were they after you?”

Trying to bring himself back to reality, Marko blinked a few times, before gazing at the questioning man. _Where to begin?_ He tried to cough the raw sensation out of his throat to respond with more clarity, “It’s. Uh. A long story.” His eyes trailed off to the side, past the man and the mess of automata bodies to the end of the street, where he caught sight of a more familiar figure making his way onto the scene.

“Ah - well, it can’t have been anything too terrible, right? Otherwise I don’t think you’d be here to tell us even that much.” The man from the roof kept his light tone up; he laughed a little after he’d spoken.

Marko wasn’t paying much attention, though, more fixated on the brunet Alpha, Ion tucked beneath his arm, pacing straight over the units like they were just bumps in the road and nothing else. Ironically, unlike the automata had, he looked well and truly prepared to kill someone.

“ _ **YOU.**_ ” The volume of his voice was enough to make both the other men jump at once. Both turned towards the source of the outcry, perhaps thinking that he was referring to them.

Much to Marko’s surprise, as if he were oblivious to the oncoming storm, the man from the roof’s face lit up. “Oh - if it isn’t Vukito!” He exclaimed.

Vuk stopped dead in his tracks, close to where the man with the ponytail was. The look of wrath switched in the moment he twisted his head towards the man from the roof to a (somewhat startled) glower of irritation. Marko wished he had it in him to let out a snort of amusement.

“We weren’t expecting you back this soon.” The man with the ponytail began to say, in an airy voice, as if he were really just talking to himself. “Is there something the matter?”

“ _Tch_.” Vuk’s head snapped away again and he grumbled, clearly trying not to lose his cool, “Long story.” He glanced back up at Marko, lips spread into a taut frown. “Came to collect this stupid bastard.”

Marko also let out a sharp exhale of annoyance at that, brow knotting. “Who the hell’re you callin’ a ‘stupid bastard’?” He hissed. “I got us outta there, didn’t I?”

As Vuk opened his mouth to respond, the man from the roof interjected, glancing at Marko. “Oh, this guy’s your friend then? Good thing we found him, or he would’ve been the automata’s next meal.”

The man with the ponytail looked as if he was about to add something relevant to that statement, but instead told the other, “I... Don’t think automata eat, Tonio.”

“We’re not friends.” Marko decided to inform them, bluntly. He took a couple of brief glances at the twins. “But. Yeah. Thanks for your help.”

“Ah, no worries!” The man from the roof beamed. “Just don’t get yourself into any more trouble with the automata, huh?”

 _Easier said than done_ , Marko commented to himself.

“Why’re you here?” Vuk asked, then, peering over at the man with the ponytail.

“An external source informed us that this part of town had been closed off, so we came to investigate.” The man he’d addressed replied.

The Alpha turned his head to look over his shoulder at the end of the street once. “They got barriers up?”

“A couple of simple identification ones. It seems like they wanted to erect them in a hurry.” The man with the ponytail gave him a small knowing smile. “I can see why, now.”

It seemed that Vuk didn’t want to dawdle around. He threw out his next question, “How many overrides you got?”

A short pause. “Fifteen.”

“You on foot?”

The man gave a slow shake of the head. “I have the Boss’s motorcycle.”

“Good.” After stepping forwards, Vuk loosened his hold on Ion, passing the boy over to Marko. “Need you to take these two to the centre, then back to the stronghold.”

The moment Marko, surprised by the sudden passing over, had gotten a good enough hold on Ion, the man from the roof bent down towards the young Omega. “And who is this, Vukito? I didn’t know you were the kid type.” He plastered a friendly grin across his face, and - much to Marko’s surprise - Ion didn’t recoil at all from the sudden overbearing attention. “Hey there, little guy! Do you have a name?”

Ion didn’t answer. Marko muttered the response on his behalf, “His name’s Ion. He doesn’t talk.”

Blinking a couple of times, the man glanced up at Marko. “Oh? That’s too bad.”

“Why to the centre first?” The man with the ponytail asked.

“ _He’ll_ explain it to you on the way.” Vuk motioned with his head towards Marko, as he began to turn and head back down the street, hands in his pockets. “Anyway - I don’t wanna hang around here waiting for HQ to send backup. You wanna take the lead?”

A short walk through the blood-stained pile of automata and the five of them were back onto the ‘main’ street. Whether it was from the weight of now having to carry Ion again, or from the fact he was just drained of energy overall, Marko found himself dawdling behind the others. Though the man from the roof hadn’t seemed to actually notice he was dragging his feet, he kept close by, whereas Vuk and the other man stayed a few metres in front.

“Ah-- I didn’t ask about yourself, yet. Are you a friend of Vuk’s from The North?” The way the man put his question forward, it seemed that he was genuinely curious.

Unsure of how to reply, Marko stayed quiet for a short while. “Uh, well.” He began to mumble. “Not really. I only met him a few days ago.” _How to explain?_ “Like I said before, it’s a long story.”

The man laughed a little, “Is that all? You don’t even have a name?”

Somehow the tone of that response made him feel even more awkward. “It’s Marko.”

Following the lead of the two ahead, they cut down another empty lane on the opposite side some ways down the street.

“Marko, huh? I’m Antonio. You can call me Tonio, though.” The man lifted his arm and made a small motion towards his twin. “That guy over there’s my brother, João. People usually say that’s kind of pointing out the obvious, but I don’t think we’re all that much alike.”

Marko didn’t give a response. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but for one, he was worn out, and also, he didn’t exactly know what to say to that. Thankfully, Antonio didn’t seem to mind at all.

On the curb of the narrow lane they’d turned down was a stationary navy-plated motorcycle. João moved straight towards it; a pair of goggles hung off the edge of the bike’s handlebars, and he hooked them off with his finger, lifting them then to pull them over his head. There was a distant pounding noise from an unintelligible direction, then, which the three men paused (albeit only for a fleeting few seconds) at.

“Sounds like back-up’s on its way, huh?” Antonio said, rather nonchalant about it.

“Go with him.” Vuk’s voice said, then. Marko met his gaze, upon realising he was talking to him. The Alpha tilted his head in João’s direction once.

After eyeing the vehicle, Marko stepped past Vuk towards it. Maybe they knew a shortcut back, or maybe they were going to risk pushing head-on through the next oncoming flank of automata. He didn’t know - and he didn’t ask; would Vuk have even given him a straight answer at a time like that?

João kicked his leg over the bike, but he didn’t start it up right away. Instead, he pulled the gun off his back and handed it over to Vuk. Next, he unfastened one of the closed pockets of his jacket and dipped his hand into it, pulling out a closed fist. Both Antonio and Vuk held out their hands, and a tiny device, barely bigger than a fingernail, was dropped into each. He shuffled sideways a bit afterwards, extending his hand to Marko as well. “Here, both of you will need them too.”

The object was opaque and square-shaped, with a coppery interior and a raised button atop it. For all Marko knew, it could’ve been an unremarkable chip from any sort of mechanism. “What is it?” He asked.

João dropped the other chips back into his pocket after Ion had taken one. “Overrides, for getting past the blockades.” He tapped the back seat of the bike with his hand. “The centre, yes?”

Marko climbed on, and focused on making sure Ion was in a secure position between the two of them. Perching upon the hard seat was uncomfortable at first, but it was preferable having the weight lifted off his feet. As odd as it had felt arriving back in the city in general, the idea that he was now going back to the centre - for real - felt even more strange. If Roderich wasn’t going to take Ion in - if the detour was going to prove a complete waste of time (and a risk of all their necks in the process), he wondered to himself: what then?

João fired up the bike’s ignition, and snapped the goggles over his eyes. Vuk took a step forwards, and placed an outstretched hand onto Ion’s head. “Be good.” He muttered, ruffling up tufts of the boy’s dark hair with his grimy fingers.

“You too, João.” Antonio chuckled, before he glanced over his shoulder once, reacting to the increasing booms coming from the main street, and spoke again before his twin could, “Time to move. See you guys later.”

As Antonio started to walk, Vuk also began to move away - but in the few seconds after he’d lifted his hand from Ion’s head, whether out of instinct or just because he wasn’t thinking clearly, Marko grabbed onto his wrist. Beneath the cuff of his sleeve, his skin was ice-cold, and it almost felt as if it was burning the edge of Marko’s palm it touched. The Alpha gazed at him - a startled confusion crossed his face.

 _Why did I do that?_ His mouth went a little dry. He licked over his lower lip to moisten it, breaking their eye contact with an abashed wince. “Get back in one piece.” He said, voice hushed; inside he cringed at the words that had left his mouth. “ _Please._ ” With that, he released his wrist.

João kicked the bike into gear, and once Marko had grabbed onto the man’s jacket tight, trapping Ion securely between them, he swung the vehicle around, the chugs and roars of the engine masking the oncoming _thud, thud, thud._ They took off down the lane, heading away from the outskirts and in the direction of the inner city. Just before Marko had the opportunity to look back, they shot around a corner, and the end of the lane began to fade into the distance.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The air, brisk and icy, howled past the bike, filling Marko’s ears and violently whipping his hair back. João leant forwards and had begun to create more speed, and Marko didn’t even know if he’d be able to hear him speak over the noise of both the wind and the engine, if he told him to slow down. Once he’d gotten used to the lurching of his stomach every time they flew past a sharp corner though, it wasn’t quite as bad - gritting his teeth and bearing the gale-like force was the worst part; finding that he couldn’t keep his eyes open for very long, he was quick to realise why João needed the goggles.

Having to clench his eyes shut for a while did hinder Marko’s understanding of their surroundings, but given that he could feel which way the bike was turning, it did seem that João was taking a zig-zag route through the empty streets, aiming to get as close to the centre as possible. After taking one particular turn down a long road, though, João brought the vehicle to a gradual, yet screeching halt, twisting it sideways until it had stopped, though he kept the engine running, and the bike propped upright with his foot. A strong scent of burnt rubber followed, and dark tracks were left on the tarmac in their wake.

Marko was about to ask why they’d stopped (were they safe there?), but João spoke before he could. “Have you ever used an override before?”

He’d almost forgotten about the little component tucked in the palm of his hand. After taking a moment to shake the numb chill off his face, Marko replied, “Never even heard of ‘em before now.”

“Just who are you, anyway?” João asked, twisting around to look at Marko. He seemed to space out as he examined his face through his lenses, before he sat forwards again, shaking his head. In a more gentle tone, he continued, “Ah. Sorry. That was out of place.” As uncannily upfront as Marko had found the enquiry, he didn’t have much time to mull it over before João moved back to the original topic. “Do you see that up ahead?”

Difficult as it was to make out, particularly with the considerable length of the street still ahead, there was a faint, opaque glow just above the ground that faded some ways up, stretching around the buildings and beyond. Considering they’d moved a good distance on the bike, it was safe to assume the entire barrier, which would have formed a mostly invisible dome overhead, covered a wide area.

“Yeah, I see it. S’an Arch Type Barrier, the quickest and easiest type to set up, normally for quarantine purposes.” As Marko droned out his reply, he raked a hand backwards through his hair - a subconscious yet pointless attempt to fix it. “S’got a three-mile radius, maybe.”

João seemed to have been brought to a stunned silence by that, but Marko didn’t realise until the man had shifted around to look at him again. His lips had spread into a frown, but one more of bewilderment than any displeasure. ‘Who are you?’, he had asked just before, and he looked as if he was reluctant now to ask it again.

Marko too had managed to make himself uncomfortable with the ease of his own words. He exhaled, “I said it was a ‘long story’ before for a reason.”

“Truth be told, I don’t exactly know how the overrides work, myself.” João began to speak again, slower this time. “But they’ll get us through this barrier, and the one to the centre. But first, they need to be activated.”

After uncurling his hand to take a look at the tiny object, Marko asked, “S’that what the button’s for?”

“Mhm.” João gave a light nod of the head. “Just make sure it’s pressed in fully, or you’ll be thrown off once we go through.” In reference to Ion, he added, “Check his, too.”

The device made a very small ‘click’ when compressed. Once Marko had dealt with his own, he did as João had said, making sure the one Ion had a hold of was pressed in the same way. Assumably, that was the entire activation process, as once João had eyed all three over once, he readied the bike to move again.

“Which part of the centre are we heading to?” The man asked. “Vuk said you’d explain, but I expect he was just brushing me off.”

 _Probably,_ Marko thought, wryly. Vuk had been at the back of his mind since the five of them had split up. It was hard to comprehend that he and Antonio were still in the area; the automata and the inevitable chaos that came with them was far out of earshot, though. “Uh.” He tried to think straight then - the location of Roderich’s home had almost escaped him. “9A, 22nd Street, Clero District. It’s west of the palace.”

Again, João paused at what he’d said. “Isn’t that the Edelstein residence?”

Marko answered plainly, “Yeah. Ya know ‘em?” He didn’t suppose it was much of a surprise if they were at least somewhat acquainted.

“Tonio, my brother, he runs some errands for them sometimes. Though, I think he really just goes there to play with the children.” João replied, his voice trailing off a bit, as if he were drifting off into his own thoughts again. He brought himself back down to earth, “You’re in luck, then. I know precisely how to get there.”

Bearing that in mind brought Marko a small sense of relief, even when João had set them going again. Even with the overrides ‘activated’, as they shot down the street, Marko prepared himself for the impact. HQ’s barriers were connected to the primary databank, the same system the automata were connected to. Anyone not listed as having permission to pass through could not enter or leave through one - their body would be wholly, physically, prevented from doing so - and so what João had said about being thrown off would have been the case.

However, their exit was unhindered. It felt like passing through a barrier as normal. Therefore, it didn’t _feel_ like anything at all. When he realised they’d passed, Marko relaxed his body again. Crossing the barrier and taking a left brought them onto yet another narrow, empty lane, but a main road carrying traffic lay at its end. No doubt the barrier was preventing a number of grubby vehicles from getting to where they needed to be, hence the backlog that could be seen immediately on the far side of the road, headed in the direction of the outskirts. Though the traffic on the nearer side was also thick, it was moving in a steady flow; João waited a short time for a sliver of space to move into. The cloying scent of exhaust fumes and the whirring growls of engines and sharp, frustrated horns were thick in the air. Living away in The North, it had been easy for Marko to let slip from his memory just how chaotic the capital was, especially at what must have been the end of the working day.

They cut across the flow of traffic, into the very middle of both lanes. After speeding past cars from both directions and somehow managing to find the end of the outward-bound queue quite some way out, a distance that was simple enough to clear by going straight ahead on the same main road, the route ahead split off. Blocky wall-like structures lay at the side of the split and the remainder of the road as far as could be seen - indicating they’d reached the river. João brought the bike to another standstill on the curb. Then, he went back into his closed pocket.

“Hand me your overrides back. They’re single-use, and we’ll need new ones to get past the next barrier.” Instead of giving them out uncompressed as before, he clicked the buttons in on the new components before he’d handed them over. In a more serious tone, he added, “By the way, there’s probably going to be military police guarding the bridge. Just act natural. I’ll get us past as quickly as possible.”

“Go figure.” Marko muttered, gripping his hand around the override. He was aware of the presence of military police (and barriers, for that matter) at the bridges to and from the centre, though back in his time, it was the Women’s Corps - the former ‘military police’ - that had been stationed there.

‘Acting natural’ was easier said than done. João cut straight across the road and turned into the intersection. Then, the bridge lay straight ahead of them, as did the barrier and - indeed - a couple of armed HQ personnel at either side. The lack of any other vehicles heading in the same direction made things worse. Those on guard watched them with intent; it was probable that a motorcycle heading into the centre was an uncanny sight for them. Whether those personnel in particular had been made aware of Marko or not, it wasn’t clear, but he tried to keep his head down and out of sight regardless; he hunched himself over Ion to obscure their view of him as well. And yet again, he braced for the impact with the barrier, eyes shut tight. The bike hit a bump and, for a moment, his heart and stomach lurched - but when he opened his eyes again, he realised they’d cleared the bridge, and the turbulence had been caused by the raised point where the stone bridge met the road.

Knowing they’d passed the central barrier was of a greater comfort to Marko than the first, somehow. That was it - they were well and truly _through_ , and it was only a stone’s throw away to the Edelstein residence. Ion would be somewhere safe - he hoped - and then if his luck hadn’t run dry by that point, he and João would be able to make it out again and to the stronghold.

And then what? Though he’d already had a lot of time to think about it, he’d never really found much of an answer to that question. He’d be staying with Vuk and his family, but that wasn’t going to be permanent. What would he do until he could get back to his village?

His home in The North seemed to be millions of miles away, by then. Vuk had admitted that his frustrations with Marko had been down to his absence from the capital. Would he even let Marko go back, once the dust had settled? It was kind of a stupid notion; though he could imagine him vehemently complaining about it, really, what power did Vuk have to stop him?

João guided the bike around a few winding streets. The centre could be traversed with ease on foot, and so compared to the outskirts, the level of traffic was almost non-existent. Subsequently the roads were much smoother with less wear and tear from consistent use, making for an easier ride. Drawing closer to their destination, the buildings increased in height, and began to appear different from one another in external stylistic choices; though the changes were so subtle that they were not apparent from a distance, the centre’s buildings were still a far cry from the cardboard box-like structures of the outskirts. True to Utopia’s fashion, even the grandest homes of the elite were packed together on the roadside, with very little space, if any at all, between their external walls. Clero District, a wide area bordering the west edges of the palace - home to the majority of the city’s wealthy - was the greatest example of this: elegant, dark-stoned residences, slotted next to one another in an orderly fashion.

With no yard space at the front or back of the properties, vehicles were usually kept on the curb. The centre boasted a low enough crime rate that theft of any such possessions was rare - the presence of military police (and automata, where necessary) made sure of that. Additionally, every street was lined with tall streetlamps; unlike the outskirts, there were few dark patches to lurk in. It was easy enough to spot the location of the Edelstein residence once they were on 22nd Street: Erzsébet’s SUV was right outside.

She’d made it back okay, then. Marko had never doubted she would, but irrespective of the simple fact that it was _Erzsébet_ , and the woman could have probably ripped open the top of that HQ vehicle with her bare hands just as Vuk had done, _without_ the aid of a rut, it had still been a part of the general nagging concern that had played on Marko’s mind throughout his journey to the capital, due to everything that had happened. However - he hadn’t forgotten that it was more or less Erzsébet’s fault that he’d been dragged across the frozen North by a temperamental Alpha. He still didn’t quite know if he was ready to forgive her for that.

“Here we are.” João said, settling the bike a short distance in front of the SUV. He switched the engine off and draped his goggles back on the handlebar. “Can I have your overrides back?”

As he and Ion handed the devices over, Marko asked, out of curiosity, though he made it sound like a light-hearted joke, “D’ya collect the spent ones, or somethin’?”

“Ah, no. We just have to be careful about disposing of them.” João said, a bit dismissively as he lifted off the bike and onto the pavement. “Should I assume you’ll be a while?”

Marko got a tight hold on Ion before he slid off the bike himself, considering the question. “Sorry, I really don’t know how long it’ll take.”

The front of the home, like its neighbours, was vast, with a few stone steps leading up to the raised porch. Marko had only ever visited once before, but he remembered the distinct long, thin arched windows, arranged in perfect ascending columns over the four stories, and the broad, double-doored entrance. It was the nicest house Marko had ever visited himself, if only because he’d never set foot inside the palace.

“You okay, Ion?” He asked, as he began to climb the steps after João. As expected, the boy didn’t give a verbal answer, but his fingers curled tight in Marko’s shirt once the question was raised to him. “The ride here didn’t shake ya up too much, did it?”

“I apologise if I went too fast.” João interjected. “I’ve made a habit of it.”

Ion shook his head, then, apparently in response to what Marko had asked. He didn’t appear to have been affected, at least not as much as Marko thought he would have been; perhaps Ion was just as worn out by that point as he was.

João, closer to the doorbell, pressed on the small button with the pad of his thumb. The sun had already set, and every window of the house had its curtains drawn. Internal light was visible through a couple of the ground floor ones, though, which indicated that there was someone home. The household was probably settled for the evening, otherwise the curtains wouldn’t have been drawn. What time was it, anyway? Marko was sure he’d managed to lose track of the passage of time.

The muted chime rang for a few prolonged moments, before a shuffling could be heard inside. Shortly after, the handle of the door on the right clicked and turned, and then, door itself creaked open. Light from the hallway inside spilt out.

“Mr. Fernandes! Good evening.” A short young man with a clear voice stood across the threshold. Dark-eyed with a pale, beige-toned oval face and a slight concave nose, he had blond hair that was blatantly bleached - spindly at the ends where it fell over his ears, a sepia colour at the roots. For certain, he wasn’t Roderich, or anyone Marko knew at all, but it was safe to assume that since he’d opened the door, he was working for the man. His clothes - sage-green slacks and a matching waistcoat, worn over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows - also indicated this well enough. His wispy eyebrows lifted as he addressed João, before he glanced over at Marko and Ion once. “Mr. Edelstein wasn’t expecting guests this evening.”

“Ah. A good evening to you too, Janez.” João gave him a polite nod. “Sorry, if we’re interrupting anything. It’s an urgent matter.”

The blond stepped away from the door, allowing them inside. “Mr. Edelstein’s taking the kids’ music lesson right now. If you don’t mind waiting, it shouldn’t be much longer. I can let him know you’re here now, though.”

Once he’d stepped into the warmth of the inside, João paused in thought. “That sounds fine, but.” He looked towards Marko. “It’s actually _this_ man who has business with Roderich today. Perhaps you should ask him.”

Marko had yet to follow João into the hall when the blond turned his attention towards him. “Oh. Right. Good evening, sir. Please come in.” For some reason, he seemed a little less at ease then, when he’d acknowledged João’s words and had begun to speak to Marko.

By that point, Marko was far past fully enjoying being back in the heated indoors after days spent in freezing temperatures. Still, it was welcome change, especially when the blond had moved past them and shut out the cold again.

“Janez Margon, sir.” The blond stiffened his back as he turned back around. “Are you an associate of Mr. Edelstein’s?”

“Er. Kinda.” Marko replied. He didn’t know how exactly to answer that at first, but once it had occurred to him, he added, “More of a friend of Erzsébet’s, actually. Call me Marko.”

Something seemed to click in Janez’s mind as he took that information in. “Ah, then you’re...” He began to say, trailing off before he gave his head a brisk shake. “--Mr. Marko. Right.” He blinked a couple of times then, as if to bring himself back to reality. “Can I take your coats?”

“We’re not gonna be stickin’ around for long.” Marko was pretty sure his coat was filthy anyway, he didn’t want to burden the blond with it.

Janez nodded. “Uhm. Well, make yourselves comfortable in the drawing room, anyway. I’ll let both of them know you’re here.” With that, he took off in a half-jog towards the winding staircase.

The inside of the house was mostly unchanged since Marko’s last visit, though he didn’t really remember much about it from then - he’d only dropped in briefly, before Erzsébet had taxied him towards The North. The way she had talked about her home whenever she’d visited him made it seem much smaller and more snug than it actually was - where he and João stood, they could hear nothing; the first floor was still, and wherever the music lesson was taking place, it was too far away to be heard. The top floor, perhaps?

João moved across the pristine marble flooring, making a beeline for one of the doors on the hallway’s left. Marko followed, after Janez had disappeared upstairs.

“It’s a nice place, isn’t it? I don’t blame Tonio for wanting to come here all the time.” The man began to say, his voice drifting like he was indulging in his own thoughts again. “Though, I hear the children aren’t really allowed on this floor. It’s strictly for visitors and such.”

True to what João was saying, the drawing room they had entered into didn’t look as if it was lived in one bit. The seats, a few armchairs and a couch covered in a red velvet fabric, were all plump-cushioned, the pale carpeted floor pristine, the wooden furnishings spotless. A grandfather clock was pressed up against the far wall, next to the fireplace that faced the couch - but it neither ticked, nor moved, nor did it display the correct time: Marko doubted it was neither five minutes past twelve in the morning, nor the afternoon. He wished then that he’d handed his coat over after all - no doubt he was caked with just enough dirt to marr the upholstery.

Needing to fill the silence, Marko asked, “Where d’ya live, yourself?” Part of him _was_ interested in knowing. “With your brother, somewhere?”

João chuckled lowly beneath his breath, facing Marko from across the room with his hands on his hips. “We live inside the stronghold. Tonio does live with me and my partner, though we’re hoping he’ll settle down with someone soon, so he can have his own place.”

Marko set Ion on the floor with care. “He’s gotta settle down to do that?”

“Mmm. It’s the current system within the stronghold.” João nodded his head. “A bonded pair is given priority of any new homes that are built - because there’s a shortage of them, the system is so. But most of us in there have family groups anyway, so it doesn’t amount to a big problem.”

It made enough sense that the stronghold would have a system such as that. Marko recalled that Vuk had said something about space being an issue inside the stronghold - as well as him saying he lived with both of his brothers and his sister-in-law. With Marko there too, that would be five of them in what was possibly quite a small home, so he could imagine why Ion staying with them too would have been a problem.

“Ah.” Marko realised all of a sudden that he’d let a small piece of information João had given him fly over his head. “Ya said that you have a ‘partner’, and that bonded pairs’re given priority...”

“Yes?” João’s speech was slow, a sign that he hadn’t caught on.

 _Awkward_. “Uh, are ya?”

“Am I what?”

Marko swore inwardly. He wanted to get the word out of his mouth so fast that he all but spat it out, “Bonded.”

For a (very long) moment, João was taken aback by that question. Then, he gave another light laugh. “Yes, I am.”

Well aware of how blunt the question had been, Marko felt himself shrink a little. He coughed, “Sorry.” He supposed he had to explain himself, so as not to look like an ignorant human. “I uh. I didn’t mean it like.” He scratched the back of his head. “See, I’m an Omega, and I haven’t been in the capital since the program dissolved.”

He broke his eye contact with João, but it had remained there long enough for him to see the man’s brows raise. “ _You’re_ an Omega?”

“Yeah.” Marko clarified, “I take suppressants, so I had no idea about you, either.”

João looked as if he wanted to ask more questions, but at that moment, a heavy drumming of footsteps could be heard from the hallway’s staircase. Both looked towards the doorway. Seconds later, Erzsébet bounded through, looking like the space between the drawing room and wherever else in the house she’d been previously was a mile long race she’d just run. Judging by the plain dress she wore, and the apron folded over it, her thick hair pinned back off her face, she had dropped what she was doing at once - whether it was cleaning or looking after the children - to get downstairs.

“Marko--!” Her voice - shrill - pierced across the quietness. Before Marko had much time to react, she had pounced upon him with enough force to almost knock him off balance; her arms were flung around his shoulders. She squeezed tight.

Startled as he had been by her throwing herself at him like that, and putting his irritations aside as well, Marko was glad to see her. It was strange, he thought; the last time he’d seen her, he’d expected that it may have been the final time. He managed to hug her back before she grabbed his arms and pushed herself away.

She looked upon his face - and, all of a sudden, scowled. “You! You stupid, _stupid_ man!” She barked, her nails digging into his arms through the fabric of his clothes. “What the _hell_ were you thinking - pulling a stunt like that!?” With every other word, she gave him a hefty shake.

 _I was thinking of fire and ruin. The entire village being set alight, maybe._ Erzsébet spoke up again before he could answer aloud - her expression softening.

“Thank God you’re okay.” She seemed to want to force a smile, but as she examined him closer, all trace of any such comfort or happiness was washed away. “Marko.” Her voice was brought to a monotone. “What the fuck is that?”

He stared at her, confused. “What’s what? I haven’t shaved in about a week, so.” For the most part he was joking - _that_ couldn’t have been what she’d noticed on his face. He didn’t realise what it was that she’d seen until the words had left his mouth. “Oh, the bruise? S’it bad?”

“Well, it’s not red or swollen, but...” Erzsébet began to say, before her brow creased and her teeth clenched, bitterness and volume returning, “Did that pig of an Alpha do that to you!?”

Though the answer was ‘yes’, saying so would have been more trouble than it was worth. Vuk had also given an apology for it, so Marko didn’t think he could hold it against him. “Uh. No.” He glanced to the side, avoiding Erzsébet’s gaze. He gave her the first excuse that came to mind, “I fell.” Now that he thought about it, he probably had plenty of other bruises from the actual fall he’d taken down the mine shaft. He coughed. “That guy sure let me know what an asshole he was otherwise, though.”

“And who would that be?” A new voice piqued up from the doorway.

All heads turned in that direction. Roderich was a lanky man who was not particularly tall and didn’t have much presence - yet his interruption had caught their attention well enough. Dark-haired with spectacles that sat atop a hooked nose, he hadn’t changed much at all from the last time, brief as it had been, that Marko had seen him. He stood an inch shorter than Erzsébet, and was also visibly less muscular than his wife, and wore a blue-tinted suit that hung limp off his frame. Nonetheless he didn’t carry himself as if he was the shortest person (sans Ion) in the room.

He didn’t make eye contact with anyone until he’d perched himself on the edge of one of the armchairs, back upright; he then looked off to the far side of the room. “Good evening, João. I trust you and your family are well?”

A small smile pricked at the edges of João’s lips. “Of course.”

Roderich nodded his head, acknowledging the reply. When he turned his attention to Marko then, he mustered a less casual, more curt composure. “Marko, yes? What can I help you with?”

He didn’t want to beat around the bush then. That was good. Marko put his hand on the top of Ion’s head; the boy had fixed himself to his side since he’d placed him down. “This is Ion Vladiou. I found him in a traffickin’ ring in The North. He’s the younger brother of Mihai Vladiou, who was part of the same Omega pack I was in under Erzsébet’s care.” Marko paused to observe the somewhat unimpressed look that had crossed Roderich’s face. He’d probably heard stories of Mihai through his wife. Did _they_ know he was gone, he wondered? He still hadn’t quite managed to come to terms with it himself. Even letting the name ‘Mihai’ out of his mouth created a hollow pain in his heart. His lips spread into a thin line. “Ion’s also mute. Well, he doesn’t talk, anyway. I don’t know if it’s selective. He needs someone to take care of him, properly.” Had that made Marko sound like he was irresponsible? He added, “I mean, I _would_ do so, myself, but I’m gonna be stuck in the stronghold for a while, so s’not exactly practical. So I wondered if you’d take him in - even if it’s just temporarily, ‘til a permanent home can be found for him.”

Roderich cocked an eyebrow. He mulled the proposal over, letting the room fall into silence for a few seconds - though it felt like a whole minute had passed by the time he spoke again. “You are aware that the children here are orphaned or otherwise abandoned elite, yes?”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” Marko replied, matter-of-factly.

Erzsébet chimed in, “What about Mihai, or their parents? Or, do you want us to look after him until you find them?”

She didn’t know, then - that made enough sense; if she had done, then Marko would have found out much sooner. He let out a deep exhale, eyeing Erzsébet sidelong. “Mihai is dead.”

“ _Dead_?” Her jaw went lax, and she brought a hand to her chest. Though she had never gotten along with Mihai much, it was clear her shock in that moment was genuine.

“HQ killed him.” Marko grimaced a bit. He didn’t dare look down at Ion, then. What had to have been going through the boy’s mind all this time was beyond him. “So I heard, anyway. Can’t say I know the full story.”

Erzsébet’s hand lifted to cover her mouth. Her eyes were wide open. “No. No, no, they told me.” She spluttered, her head shaking from side to side in steady motions. “Th-They took him for tests in isolation. I-I thought that once the program closed, he was released with the rest of you.”

“Not accordin’ to his Alpha.” Marko told her, chewing on the inside of his lip.

A pregnant pause fell across the room, plunging it into silence. Ion’s hand curled tight on the hem of Marko’s coat. Erzsébet’s gaze narrowed in a questioning manner for a second, before it shot back into wide bewilderment. “Wait, that guy was--”

Did she need it stated outright? Marko considered her reaction. “The guy ya sent after me?” The bitterness he still felt over it seeped into his voice. “He was Mihai’s Alpha.”

Seeming to now be interested in the conversation he had been staying out of, João questioned abruptly, “Is this _Vuk_ that you’re talking about?”

The wave of astounded confusion continued around the room - Roderich tensed, squinting at João through his glasses. “I was not aware the man had any such commitment.”

Lifting her hands in jerky motions, Erzsébet interrupted, “Okay, okay, okay, _okay_. _Hang. On_.” Her gaze fell on Marko again. “The Alpha I found at the outpost...”

Given what Roderich had just said, he knew who Vuk was, and so Erzsébet’s reaction was all the more strange. A little frustrated over, to a degree, being asked the same question twice, Marko’s reply to her was laboured, “His name is Vuk.” Frowning, he looked towards Roderich and asked, “Is that a big deal or somethin’?”

Roderich brought his hand to his closed mouth and cleared his throat, discomforted by the enquiry. “ _Ahem._  The short answer is yes.” At that moment, Janez stepped through the door, a silver tray piled with crockery balanced upon one arm. He said nothing, but snuck past Erzsébet, crossing in front of Marko and Roderich to reach the coffee table. Taking advantage of his butler’s timing, Roderich changed the subject, feigning a smile, “Ah, would either of you care for some tea?”

“What’s the long answer, then?” Marko pressed, over the sound of Janez’s tray making a gentle _clink_ as it was placed upon the polished rosewood table.

The smile drifted back off Roderich’s face. He pushed on the rim of his spectacles, fixing them, as they had slid down a little. “The _long answer_...” He stressed the words with some curtness. “...Is that the man is a prominent figure within the stronghold’s society.”

‘Prominent figure’ was somewhat on the vague side. “So, like, their leader?” Marko questioned.

At that, Roderich looked like he wanted to burst out laughing. Instead, his voice became sharper. “Leader? Heavens, no! They’d never get by with that stupid oaf in charge.” Mustering a more restrained tone, he added, “On the contrary, Mišić is notorious for what many would consider the wrong reasons.”

The sound of hot tea being poured halted with an abrupt _slosh_ , then. Janez proclaimed a moment afterwards, “Wh-What are you saying, Mr. Edelstein?” - it was obvious he had to try hard to come across as brave when speaking up against his master.

“By every definition of the word, he is a criminal.” Roderich eyed Janez across the room, though he did not lash out at him for his words. “However, his crimes have ultimately been beneficial to those living in the stronghold. And, I suppose through no fault of his own, his name has also garnered interest.”

A criminal? Vuk didn’t seem the type to give damn about Utopia’s laws, but Marko had assumed that it was natural for any of the Alphas that were aligned with the rebellion to do so. He felt like sighing; Roderich wasn’t explaining anything in full. Was he avoiding doing so on purpose? “That doesn’t really answer my question, though. It’s a big deal Erzsébet found him at the outpost, ‘cause?”

Erzsébet still looked shellshocked. “Because I told him I would rip off his balls and force-feed them to him, if he didn’t go after you?” She folded her arms, then, with a frown. “Well, I suppose _that_ doesn’t matter so much, but I’ve never seen him before. For someone the rebellion mentions and talks about in pretty high regards, he wasn’t really anything like I pictured.” She blinked a couple of times. “And it’s not just that. You’re sure he was _Mihai’s_ Alpha?”

“Pretty damned sure. Heard it from his own mouth.” After the statement itself, the fact that Vuk had known of ‘Samuil’ through Mihai was enough proof Marko had needed.

She lowered her head a bit, and shook it slowly. “I never knew. Or, maybe it slipped from my memory. After everyone was assigned, I wasn’t really given much information on the individual Alphas you were all with. To be honest, I was kind of glad to have gotten rid of Mihai for the most part, too.”

Though the responsibility for Omegas individually still rested upon their wardens, as a pair, an Alpha and Omega were ‘supervised’ by the Alpha’s warden, though during and after assignments, not much actual supervision was necessary. It made enough sense that Erzsébet would have either forgotten about Vuk, or never really have known about him at the time whatsoever.

“How surprising.” João muttered, as he accepted a small, ornate cup from Janez that looked particularly frail and dainty in his hold. “Ah, thank you.”

Roderich stared at Erzsébet with a pensive look. “It certainly explains a few things about him.” He turned his attention back to Marko. “But you weren’t here to discuss Mišić, were you?”

“Uh, no.” Was Marko’s upfront reply.

“Erzsébet, shall I take the young man up to Liesel, or would you like to do so?”

It took Marko a moment to realise that was more or less a ‘yes’ to his request. He released a long sigh of relief through his clenched teeth. Unfolding her arms, Erzsébet glanced between her husband, Marko, and the boy at his side.

“Sure.” She said, before she bent her back in order to duck down to Ion’s level, hands pressed against the front of her apron. A smile crossed her face. “Hello there. Would you like to come with me?”

Ion didn’t budge, though he stared at Erzsébet, eyes wide and glassy. His grip on Marko’s coat didn’t waver. The boy was very still in the few seconds before he peered up at Marko. There was reluctance in his expression, his lower lip starting to wobble. He hadn’t looked so worried back at the cabin, nor did the ride on João’s bike seem to have affected him much. Marko winced inwardly - he already felt guilty about having to leave Ion in the Edelsteins’ care, but now the time had come, and Ion didn’t seem to want to part with him, it was worse.

“M’sorry, Ion.” Marko let out a heavy sigh and squatted down by the boy. “I’d let ya come home with me if I could, but that’s not possible right now. So, this’s the best place for ya.” Assuming that Ion would have been so ready to stay there was a mistake, and now it was difficult to try to think of ways to convince him. “Everyone here’ll look after ya. You’ll be able to eat dinner and sleep in a real bed tonight. Betcha haven’t done that in a while, huh?” Marko didn’t want to imagine how long that had been, himself. “If I can get back in here, into the centre, I’ll come to visit ya.” He pulled Ion into a firm hug, squeezing around his shoulders. “See ya later.”

Once they had parted, Erzsébet outstretched her hand. “The other children are upstairs, Ion. Do you want to go meet them?”

After taking a brief couple of looks back and forth between Erzsébet and Marko, Ion reached for her hand. She took his and, standing tall again, began to step with him towards the doorway.

“I’ll make sure he settles in okay.” She spoke over her shoulder to Marko, as he rose back upright. “If I don’t catch you before you go, don’t be a stranger.”

Erzsébet was happy, all because Marko was inside the capital and in one piece. As much as he’d wanted to let her know how annoying that was, he bit it back - it wouldn’t have been right to do so, not when she and her husband were doing him a favour. As she and Ion disappeared from view, Janez took Marko’s attention again, handing him a china cup identical to João’s, filled with steaming tea.

“Thanks.” He murmured, before taking a large sip. Despite the liquid being scalding hot, he didn’t mind burning his tongue - he hadn’t had anything to drink for some time.

Roderich peered out of the open doorway; he made sure Ion and Erzsébet were upstairs before speaking again, reverting to a stern tone of voice. “I should make it clear, Marko, that I’ll only be making this exception once.” His eyes narrowed into slits. “Do not be dragging every homeless child you come across through my doors. We simply don’t have room for all of them.”

“Yeah, I know.” Marko grunted, between mouthfuls of tea. “I’ll do my best to find him a permanent home, as quick as I can.”

“Very well, then.” Roderich nodded. “By the way, the two of you are quite welcome to sit down, you know.”

Side-eyeing the spotless red couch, Marko replied, a little sheepishly, “I uh, I got dirt on my clothes, so...”

“Ah, yes. I noticed. You walked all the way from The North, didn’t you?” After accepting his own cup from Janez, Roderich added, “By the way, do you have somewhere in the stronghold to stay, yourself?” He brought the cup to his lips.

“Yeah. I’m stayin’ with Vuk and his family.” Was Marko’s blunt answer.

The tea almost slipping out of his grasp, Roderich suddenly lurched and coughed, as if the drink had gotten caught in his throat. He brought a hand to his mouth and attempted to recover from the blunder, as Marko cocked an eyebrow.

“ _Ahem._  Excuse me.” He peered over the top rim of his glasses, crinkling his nose. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make such terrible jokes.”

“S’not a joke.” Marko shrugged his shoulders, not quite sure why Roderich had reacted the way he did, though he’d already gotten the impression the man didn’t like Vuk very much. “I already asked him if me bein’ there’d be an issue, and he said it was fine, so long as I’m on suppressants.”

Roderich muttered, “You’re very lucky Erzsébet can’t hear you.” Before Marko could ask what _that_ meant, he spoke again, with more clarity. “Well. It _is_ a roof over your head, I suppose.”

João chimed in, “Roderich, you don’t really think Vuk to be such a bad guy, that he’d take advantage of an Omega in his care, do you?”

A considerable pause followed, which Marko found more than a little awkward. Frowning behind his cup, he glowered sidelong at João, grumbling to himself, _was that really necessary?_

Meanwhile, Roderich appeared somewhere between taken aback and just plain disgusted by the query. “I suppose if he had wanted to, he would have done so already.” He spoke as if the words were causing an unpleasant taste in his mouth. “But it is neither something I wish to discuss, nor an image I want in my mind.”

“Vu-- M-Mr. Mišić wouldn’t do something like that.” Janez mustered the courage to speak up again. Since handing the cups of tea out, he’d taken a position stood by the table; likely, he was waiting for Roderich to dismiss him or else give him another task.

“I should certainly hope not.” Roderich replied, off-hand.

Janez recoiled again. Across the room, João watched the blond, with a look akin to one of pity, yet he sipped on his tea and said nothing. Marko, too, didn’t really know what to say, though he found it intriguing that Janez had jumped to Vuk’s defence. Perhaps the two were friends, or else Janez had a great deal of respect for the Alpha for other reasons. Not caring to savour the tea, more appreciative of the pleasant warmth of the liquid down his raw throat than how it tasted, Marko finished his tea in another couple of glugs.

“Thanks for your time, Roderich.” He said, moving to place the cup on the table. “I don’t wanna keep ya, or João for that matter.”

“My pleasure.” A trace of a smile crossed Roderich’s features. He lifted himself out of his seat. “If we’re done here, I shall be returning upstairs. Janez, would you see our guests out?”

“Yes, Mr. Edelstein.” Came the blond’s methodical reply.

As Roderich made his departure from the room, João stepped towards the table as well, settling his cup next to Marko’s. “You should be a little more careful.” He murmured, eyeing Janez. Then, inadvertently, he answered the question Marko had just asked himself, “Vuk is your friend, I understand, but he wouldn’t want you losing your position here over you defending his honour.” He gave the blond a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “And Roderich may not be so easily vexed in front of us, but, ah, I hope you wouldn’t try that sort of thing at his dinner parties.”

“Th-Thanks for your concern, Mr. Fernandes.” Janez lowered his head with a sigh. “May I show you to the door?”

They followed him back into the hallway, and straight to the front door. The blond unlatched the same door they’d entered through, and held it open wide for them. Once they’d said their goodbyes to Janez and he’d shut the door after them, they were out in the icy evening once again. There was one last place to go from there: the stronghold. Now that Ion was in a safe place, Marko could go back to worrying about his own circumstances.

“João? Can I ask ya somethin’ about Vuk?” He said, hands digging into his coat pockets as the two of them stepped down to the bike.

“If it’s something I can answer, sure.” João replied.

“What did Roderich mean exactly, when he said Vuk was a ‘criminal’?” The way it had been said, as in, ‘he is a criminal, in every sense of the word’, hadn’t sat right with Marko. “He wasn’t just talkin’ about, y’know, the rebellion, was he?”

Lips spread thin in a frown, João took a brief glance at Marko and tore it away again the next second as he formed a response. “That is a difficult question.” He paused in thought, and then, turning towards Marko, he stood still and lowered his voice. “Roderich, he speaks of Vuk unfairly. He may call him a criminal, and perhaps that is true, but he is not the sole perpetrator of his crimes. If Vuk is guilty, then most Alphas are also guilty.”

It was a little difficult to follow what João was saying. He seemed to be stepping around the main point, like Roderich had done. Was it really so hard to explain upfront? “Er. So, what’s the crime, then?”

João sighed, and forced a smile. “I’m afraid that’s where it gets complicated.” He started to step towards the bike again. Pulling his goggles over his head, he added, “Perhaps you should ask Vuk yourself.”

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Marko mumbled, “If I can’t get a straight answer outta you or Roderich, I sure as hell ain’t gonna get one outta him.”

Snickering a bit in response to the comment, João shook his head. “Well, perhaps you can worry about that when we get to the stronghold.”

 

* * *

 

 

Whether it was because he’d become more used to the movement of the bike, or because he’d felt a great deal of pressure had been lifted from his shoulders after he’d left Ion in Roderich’s care - or perhaps for both reasons - Marko found the ride out of the centre less stressful. But even then, certain concerns still nagged at his mind. Would they be pursued again, once they reached the outskirts? It would only be a matter of time before HQ would realise that he was off their radar once again, and in the capital - HQ’s front doorstep - escaping it would be all the more difficult. Even if reaching the stronghold was their final goal, what then? Would it really prevent them from being sought out?

A new pair of overrides cleared their way through the barrier over the bridge. João headed back along the same route they had come; he crossed the river, took a hard right and reappeared alongside the outbound traffic. The evening congestion was starting to let up, but that didn’t stop João from avoiding the flow of vehicles entirely. He sped straight down the main road, and when he found the turn he needed, took a left-bound swerve that way.

The further away they got from the centre, the smaller and shabbier the surroundings became once again. After staying on the busier roads for some time, they pulled into emptier residential lanes, not unlike the ones they had encountered the automata on. Though João wasn’t dawdling, snaking around those parts meant he had to slow just enough that Marko could take a good look around without the force of the oncoming wind blowing hard in his face. If the outskirts were a world away from the average citizens sat in their cars, tapping their fingers on their steering wheels at red lights, then they were a million miles away from the grandiose and the illumination of the Clero district. Some ways back, the rows of streetlamps had ended. Darkness lay ahead; the bike’s headlight cast across their view shadows of the frail, crumbling structures. The homes there - if they could be classed as homes - were derelict, and the further they went, the worse it got, until nothing was left of some structures but piles of rubble strewn upon the cracked ground, dampened from the fallen yet unsettled snow. It was either a construction site, or the complete opposite.

Out of the darkness was a faint glow up ahead. It seemed to float in mid-air, a dome of waning light, akin to the final moments of a sunset upon the horizon. Transfixed by the curious sight, Marko didn’t realise what it was until João skidded the bike to a halt. And then, he could make out the towering structure ahead, over which the light was settled: walls. Specifically, the stronghold’s walls.

The area was still and silent, but Marko could just hear the distant rushing sound of the coast nearby. He took a look back over his shoulder; eyeing the central radio tower that rose tall out of the surrounding circle of brightness. From there, it really did seem like it was a whole world away; unreachable, somehow.

“Who’s there!?” A voice yelled down from the top of the walls, echoing across the emptiness of the surroundings.

The walls were fifty foot high (according to what Vuk had said, but now, Marko didn’t doubt his words at all), and so looking up at the top from the very bottom was a strain on the neck. A trace of a figure moved in front of the internal light.

“Fernandes!” João bellowed up, as he climbed off the bike.

“Fernandes already got back, fifteen minutes ago!” Was the somewhat delayed reply; it sounded in jest. João grunted a bit, before laughter followed, "Just kidding, João, we know it's you!"

So, Antonio had gotten back fine, then. That was good. What about Vuk, then? Would there have been some kind of commotion if Antonio had returned in one piece, but Vuk hadn’t? The open-ended information Roderich had told him passed through Marko's mind.

Vaguely, the same voice could be heard calling over the other side. “Open the gates; it’s João Fernandes.”

A loud creaking noise followed, and the vast, thick slab of wood and iron lodged into the stone ahead began to separate. The doorway was tall, filling a space in the wall roughly a fifth of its full height. Light from within poured over them and the dusty ground below; João kicked the bike into gear then, and using a gentle speed, manoeuvered it through the opening. As soon as they were through, it began to shut again behind them.

The inside of the stronghold was, somehow, not as obscure as Marko had pictured it to be. Like the rest of the capital, the buildings were dark-stoned, and close knit, set as close to the perimeter walls as possible. Square-windowed and blocky with raised foundations, though they resembled the dwellings on the outskirts, they were built over many stories. From the ground up, they rose to be at least twice as high as the nobles’ townhouses in Clero District.

The path ahead was lit with long, spindly streetlamps, their lights small, frequent, and pale, like fireflies against the twilight. Figures could be spotted around, faint echoes of their conversations drifting through the cold air, more than could be said about the rest of the city, where pedestrians were difficult to spot after dark. A few indistinguishable people nearby had stopped to take note of João’s entry, but he hadn’t pulled over. The bike still moved onwards at a steady pace. There was no evidence of other vehicles inside the walls, and the main route ahead, though clear cut enough, wasn’t widened for traffic; João did seem to be taking caution for this reason.

How the towering structures were arranged also reflected the planning of the rest of the city. Walkways split off the primary road at the side of every other building, leading to narrow stairwells that climbed up their sides, with one flight of steps at every story. Noting this, Marko came to the quick realisation that the buildings were not all houses of their own, but more akin to flats. It made sense - with limited space inside the stronghold to build outwards, the alternative was to build upwards. So, when Vuk had told him ‘everyone’s on top of each other’, he had, in a way, meant it quite literally.

João brought the bike to a halt where the road ended, some ways inside. From there, the back wall was just visible; the entire enclosure couldn’t have been any bigger than a rough two square miles, but still, it was an impressive amount of space to have claimed. They had turned a few heads from those they had passed on their way through. Marko noticed, once they’d come to a standstill, that some, after acknowledging João, either stared, or else did a double-take - at him. He glanced at a few of the faces, curious to know if any were familiar. Judging by the intensity of their stares, none of them recognised him. The stronghold, he imagined, was a close-knit community; Omega or not, he was an unfamiliar face, an outsider.

Where the road came to an end, a wide, open area began. A few buildings, shorter and flatter than the rest, surrounded the haphazardly-paved space. João pulled the key from the ignition and climbed off. Hopping off after him, Marko watched him take a short stroll to the side of the closest tall dwelling. A man was perched in the shade of the structure, on the edge of a low step. With the dark shrouding him and his head bowed over, it was difficult to get a good look at him at first.

João approached. “I’m done.” He said in a casual yet somewhat upfront tone, volleying the keys towards the man. “As promised, there isn’t a single scratch or dent on her.”

Catching the keys with one hand, the man lifted his gaze. He was slumped over his lap, his broad shoulders slouched. Dressed in a khaki-coloured jacket not unlike João and Antonio’s, a striped scarf was draped around his shoulders. He had a gaunt, chiseled face, and thin, murky blond hair, gelled up into wet spikes. A pipe wafting with smoke was gripped between his teeth; he pinched the stem with the fingers of his empty hand, removing it to give his blunt response.

“Good. I’ll be checking.” His voice was a deep rumble. The pipe back in his lips a moment later, his eyes gave Marko a brief glance as he stood a short distance behind João.

João said nothing for a short while after that. He seemed to have phased out again. When he snapped back to reality, he asked the man, “Ah, did you see my brother pass by at all?”

The man motioned with his thumb in the direction of the open space beside them. “He went to the main hall.” He grunted around his pipe that time.

After directing a short nod towards the man, João passed by Marko, motioning for him to follow, and onto the paving. Though it was made up of what appeared to be brick shards that hadn’t proven suitable for constructing with otherwise, it felt akin to stepping over cobblestones. Marko’s feet were still sore, and whilst the even tarmac had been fine, he winced when crossing the area in João’s wake.

“I assume Vuk went with Tonio.” João told him, when they’d reached the opposite side. Ahead of them was one of the wide, two-story buildings; but there was nothing particularly distinguishable about it otherwise. “If not, Tonio will at least know where he went. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully.” Marko repeated, teeth gritting as a particularly hard edge dug into the ball of his foot.

Oblivious to the pain, João continued, “If not, and he’s not at home, well, you may have to spend the evening here.” He took the step up, and then pushed the building’s door open with a creak.

“And where is ‘here’?” Marko asked, raising a brow and following the other man inside, shutting the cold out behind them. They had entered a small, dim foyer, in which there was naught of much interest, other than another door straight ahead.

Before João could answer, a lazy voice murmured from the side of the room, “There’s a meeting being held right now.” Seated crosslegged on a wooden chair, with his elbow rested on a small lamp-lit table next to him, the man who spoke straightened his back a bit when he eyed João. “Oh, João, it’s you.” His head was leant on his palm, propped up by the table - above the taut sleeve of his arm, upon his exposed wrist, was a black-inked **ω**. Though he became more attentive, he didn’t move this arm. “Your brother’s inside, he said you’d probably come by. You’re fine to go through.” His gaze trailed towards Marko, then; like those outside, he stared for a short time with a look of confusion crossing his face. “Is this guy with you?”

“Yes.” João glanced over his shoulder at Marko, before turning back to the other Omega. “Ah, actually, do you know if Vuk’s with my brother?”

“Yeah, he’s in there too.”

Marko released the tense breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. His own words played back in his head again, ‘ _Get back in one piece’_. He wouldn’t have to hold it against Vuk for not keeping his word, now, he told himself.

After thanking the Omega, João opened the door ahead. “This way.” He beckoned Marko to head on through. As he stepped by him, Marko caught sight of the look on his face; a faint, knowing smile. He said nothing.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Beyond the door was a dark, windowless corridor. When João stepped through after Marko, the brunet motioned to get his attention and then placed his finger to his lips, not speaking a word himself. At the far end was a muted light, shrouded by an opaque sheet of red fabric. This fell from ceiling to floor, pulled wall to wall in a curtain, dividing the room ahead from the corridor. Dull voices were speaking beyond it, their words unintelligible, until Marko had walked with João to the threshold.

“I see. As long as they know you’re inside the capital, then sending out a scouting party to The North might not be a bad idea.” A thin, somewhat effeminate voice stated. “You’re sure it was Mirek and Lída?”

At that moment, João lifted his hand, preparing to slide open the curtain. His lean fingers hesitated, hovering in mid-air. Examining his face, Marko pondered why he was reluctant to enter. The Omega at the front of the building had said it was okay to go straight through, hadn’t he?

The voice that answered the question, rough and low-key as ever, yet with surprisingly little brusqueness, was Vuk’s. Marko put his wondering about João on hold. “There was no one else at the outpost. Just us three.”

A pause followed, after which the initial speaker made a long, strained grunt of frustration. “Why this? Targeting a small outpost. It’s almost cowardly.”

“What’d you expect? An outpost outside of the capital’s a spread of rebellion influence, in HQ’s eyes. A human rebel’s nothing but a target to them. Keep the Omegas alive for selling on, slaughter everyone else!” Vuk became louder, more tense. In the next few moments, he seemed to have calmed himself down again. “From what I can tell, HQ didn’t find the outpost itself. They must’ve screwed up their coordinates or whatever, ‘cause they thought it was the nearby village.”

Sounding pensive, the other commented, “It will be simple enough to reoccupy the outpost, then. I’ll put a team together tomorrow and dispatch them the next day. Should I count you in?”

Vuk snorted. “You couldn’t pay me to go back to that Goddamned wasteland any time soon.”

Then, João decided it was a good enough time to draw back the curtain. He pulled it halfway across, and so Marko’s view of the room was still blocked by both the fabric and his elbow at first. “Mr. Wang, good evening. I hope we’re not intruding.”

“ _João_!!” Antonio darted into view from the side, exclaiming aloud; he all but jumped on his twin, flinging his arms around him to the point where João was almost knocked off-balance. Without pause, he added, “You’re back! Did everything go okay?”

“Of course, Tonio. It was just a trip to the centre.” João half-chuckled, standing straight and giving the other man a squeeze. The drapery dropped from his hold. “I was more concerned about the two of you.”

Antonio laughed, himself, and released his brother. “Really? You didn’t think we could handle a few dumb automata?”

“I did not doubt that _Vuk_ could. It didn’t stop me being worried, little brother.” With a firm pat on his shoulder, João pushed back the rest of the curtain.

At that, Antonio’s smile was wiped clean off his face. He hung his head and mumbled, “ _Ay,_  you can be cruel sometimes, you know?”

Inside the feebly-lit room was a square table. Suspended from the low ceiling, straight above the table, was a single pendant lamp; long shadows were cast across the bricked walls from its lone glow. One man was seated at the table, arms crossed in a firm manner. Dark-haired with flecks of grey at the edges, he appeared to be of a Far Eastern ethnicity (though, he used the Utopian language with fluency, implying he wasn’t from the ‘World beyond The North’), with traces of wrinkles around his thin features. He must have been the ‘Mr. Wang’ that João had referred to. Stood opposite where the man was seated was Vuk. Both of them looked straight at Marko, once the divide had been drawn back all the way.

Vuk then turned his head towards the man at the table, and then to João. “We’re done here.” He said, and without a moment’s pause, he began to step towards the threshold.

Meanwhile, Mr. Wang had knitted his brow, whilst directing a stare at Marko; he didn’t stop when Vuk spoke. Marko hadn’t really cared about being stared at by the others around the stronghold before. But then, Mr. Wang motioned to him with his hand, beckoning him over, his expression apathetic otherwise. He felt a strange sinking feeling at that, not unlike how a child would feel when about to receive a scolding from an adult. He shuffled past Vuk regardless.

Before he reached the table, he was brought to a halt by the single word that left the man’s mouth; he did so whilst tipping his head back a bit, as if he’d come to a sudden realisation. “Iliya.”

Marko became still. Though the odd sensation of dread lifted, he felt a much different weight in his stomach left in its wake. Did this man really know who he was? He didn’t think he’d ever seen him before in his life - at least, not from what he could remember. “Iliya’s _son_.” He clarified.

Mr. Wang nodded after taking a moment to acknowledge that. “Of course.” He folded his arms again, tighter this time. Somehow, he looked disappointed, and frowning, he sighed through his nose. What he said next surprised Marko; his words were sharper than before. “Silly boy, running off to the mountains on your own. What would Iliya have thought?”

 _Good question_ , Marko thought. He almost took a glance in Vuk’s direction. How much had he said, about Marko in particular, before he and João had arrived? “I wouldn’t know. I don’t really remember him that well.” He said, being honest about it. Iliya was his Omega father, as well as his original namesake; he bore him and, for the first years of his life, raised him. He was to Marko what a mother would have been to a human. Getting the sudden urge to shift a few steps to the right and elbow Vuk, he added, “I think he’d have wanted me to do what I wanted, though. He probably wouldn’t have cared.”

Glowering at Marko, Mr. Wang was quiet for another moment of consideration. “If he was alive today, would you still have done something that foolish?”

If Marko had told the man then that he’d never thought about it before, he would have been flat-out lying. Irrespective of what his answer was, he did feel annoyed about being probed over it, out of the blue like that. Whether or not Mr. Wang knew his father didn’t matter, he was still pressing him on the same issue that Vuk had. “I’d have thought about it more.” He told him, voice lowering. “But he’s not alive today. So it doesn’t change anythin’.”

“You don’t regret it at all.” Mr. Wang stated, looking away. He let out another exhale of exasperation, then, bringing a hand up, he rubbed at his temple. In a mutter, he added, “Of course you don’t.”

“Don’t mind him, Mr. Wang.” Vuk’s voice piqued up. His hand got a firm grip on Marko’s arm. “He’s a cocky bastard. Talks back to everyone. Needs to be put in line.”

He gave his arm a hefty tug, and Marko attempted to get jerk free of his hold, hissing between his teeth, “The hell d’ya mean ‘put in line’!?”

“What’s it sound like it means?” Despite his protests, Vuk didn’t let go.

“Don’t start fighting in here!” Mr. Wang raised his voice again. He then waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “Take it outside.” He slumped back in his chair, grumbling. “It’s been too long of a day for me to deal with your bickering.”

Antonio stepped forward, “Guys, I think Mr. Wang needs his alone time. We’re done now, aren’t we?”

With some apparent reluctance, Vuk let go with a grunt. “Yeah, we’re done.” He turned to Mr. Wang, and - much to Marko’s surprise - spoke with a level of respect, “Thanks for your time.” After that, he made for the threshold again, pushing straight past João.

Unsure of what to say, himself, Marko said nothing. Instead, he frowned, feeling a little awkward, and walked after Vuk. As he did so, João stepped into the room and spoke (assumably to Mr. Wang), “I was hoping I could talk to you in private, actually.”

Whether or not João was granted that private talk, Marko didn’t know, because he and Vuk were out of earshot before then.

They passed the Omega at the desk by, and soon, they were out on the cold, paved square again. Marko braced himself for the soreness in his feet to return.

“What happened with Ion?” Vuk stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat.

Despite Marko’s annoyance with the Alpha, following what had happened inside the building, it didn’t come as a surprise to him, that he wanted to know about Ion. “They made an exception and took him in. He’ll be fine there. Said I could go back and see him if I get the chance.” He decided to put off bringing up anything Roderich had said about Vuk himself, until he’d found a better opportunity to do so.

“You didn’t get pursued or anything?”

He shrugged. “Not that I know of. Everythin’ went pretty smooth. Smoother than I thought it would.”

Once they had crossed the open square, they started to head back down the narrow middle road.

“You’re a medic, yeah?” Vuk asked, giving the topic a quick change.

“Yeah.”

“Mr. Wang said it’d be fine for you to show up at the clinic tomorrow. Dunno what tasks or shifts you’ll be given, but if at least you won’t be stuck in the one place then.”

Marko wasn’t sure what he meant, at first. He blinked. “Clinic? Ya mean, like, to work?”

“Yeah, to scrub dirt and puke off their floors. It gets pretty shitty in there.” Vuk responded, voice thick with sarcasm. He side-eyed Marko. “Yes, to fucking work. As a medic. There’s a whole team of Omegas there. Probably some faces you remember.”

Even if it was his occupation, Marko wasn’t keen on the idea of Vuk having arranged everything for him behind his back. _Who does this guy think he is!?_ He thought, bitterly. “Yeah, maybe.” So, that was what he’d be spending his time doing, then. Doing pretty much what he did back in The North, just not by himself. Putting it that way, it didn’t seem such a bad thing. “Ya gonna show me where this ‘clinic’ is, then?”

Motioning off to their left, Vuk replied, “It’s a block or so that way. Yeah, I’ll show you tomorrow.”

Grumbling, Marko asked, “Where’re we goin’ now?”

“Home.”

It wasn’t a long walk to their destination - one of the many tall, thin dwellings, no different to its neighbours. The bottom story’s lights were on, but the rest were in absolute darkness. Unlike Marko, Vuk didn’t stop to take a look at the building at all; he made for the stairwell at the side and began to climb it. From what Marko could tell, there was no one on the top two floors - no one awake, at least. Perhaps neither of Vuk’s brothers, or his sister-in-law, were home at all? This suspicion was confirmed when the Alpha attempted the handle of the door on the third story, only to find it locked. With an annoyed sound, he then dug around in his satchel.

“The hell’re they doing out this late?” He growled, fishing a key out. It was an old lock, but it must have served its purpose well enough. That, or Alphas inside the stronghold typically had enough sense not to break doors down, be it their own or someone else’s. When Vuk had pushed the door open, he set the key down on a nearby surface, before feeling around on the wall for a light. With a _click_ , the room inside was lit up.

They stepped into a kitchen, not much smaller than Marko’s own back at his village. Despite its restrained size, there was room enough for a table, and two doors that lead into other rooms. Wood-floored with marred counters, it was plain in appearance, but otherwise looked as if it had gone through a lot of use. Marko’s first impression of the place was indeed that it had a ‘lived in’ air about it, not unlike the feeling he’d gotten from Timo and Berwald’s inn. Perhaps he’d just grown used to living in the one building on his own, he wondered.

“No one’s home so it’s still kinda cold.” Vuk muttered as he shut the front door. “Normally dinner’d be going right now.” He frowned a bit, looking towards Marko. “In the meantime, there’s a bath upstairs. Go take one.”

 _There he goes again, telling me what to do._ “Er, that’s great and all.” _You guys have electricity_ _ **and**_ _indoor plumbing, at least._ “But you kinda told me to dump the only spare clothes I had back at the underpinnings.”

Lifting his shoulders, Vuk gave an uncaring reply. “So? Borrow mine in the meantime. I’ll get you new ones.” He headed through the nearest inward door, through which was a small carpeted hallway, with a staircase to the left; he motioned for Marko to follow him up it.

As much as something didn’t feel right, Marko didn’t argue. Sharing Vuk’s clothes, even for just a short time, was that okay? He remembered he was taking suppressants, so neither of their scents being on the clothes would end up being a problem. It was a weird notion regardless. He didn’t have much of an option, though. It was that or change back into clothes he’d been wearing for a couple of days and had walked some distance in.

The stairs groaning under their weight, they reached a landing that broke off into four upstairs rooms. Each wooden door was either ajar or shut; Vuk flicked on the light of the one furthest from the top of the stairs.

“Bathroom’s here.” He said, being brief about it, moving back across the landing just after. Passing one door by, he gave the next one along a shove open, before he turned the switch of that room on, too. With a frown of concentration, he entered the room, and took a steady look around.

Standing outside the door, Marko watched the other man for a few seconds, before he started examining the room himself. Though clearly a bedroom, the bed was the strangest and most noticeable thing about it; there was no bed frame, just a mattress with a few pillows and a crumpled bedsheet atop it, pushed up against the wall to their right. A pile of hardback books at the other side, below the peeling window frame, seemed to serve as a makeshift nightstand. Between the nearest wall and the foot of the bed stood a canvas wardrobe, and a battered-looking chest of drawers was set by the left wall. After he was content with his look around the room, Vuk pulled the thin curtains shut.

“This’s my room.” He explained, nonchalant, as he turned back to Marko. “You’ll be sleeping here.”

Marko felt his insides sink. _As if the clothes alone weren’t bad enough._ “Uh, what?”

“Yeah, my youngest brother’s got a spare mattress in his room. Better I share with him than make you do it.” Stepping back across the room, he added, “Take what you want from the drawers or the wardrobe. I don’t really care what you borrow. Just don’t spend hours in the bath.”

With that, the Alpha was back across the landing, and heading back down the creaking stairs. Whether out of instinct or just an idle thought, Marko raised his hand to his breast pocket, patting the medication inside to make sure it was still in its rightful place. An uncomfortable warmth had spread itself across his face - one that he somehow didn’t think a bath was going to get rid of.

 

* * *

 

Dried and dressed some time later, grateful for the warm water having dulled his aches and pains, Marko’s ears pricked at the sound of a loud voice he didn’t recognise downstairs. From where he stood on the landing, he peered over the banister of the staircase out of curiosity, though it was coming from kitchen and from that angle he couldn’t see a thing.

“I’m sixteen! I’m not your damned kid brother any more!” The disembodied voice cried, throaty and brittle.

“I don’t care if you wake up tomorrow and you’re eighty fucking years old - you don’t leave the city on your own, you stupid brat!” Vuk yelled in response.

Marko cringed a bit. ‘Kid brother’? So, the youngest of the three, then? As much as he wanted to go back downstairs, he wondered if perhaps it wasn’t the best time to do so.

“Sis goes on her own all the time, so why the hell can’t I!?”

“Why!? _Sis_ is a _Goddamn_ _ **human**_ , that’s why!”

“You’re not human, either, but _you_ run off to The North on your own all the damn time!”

A pause followed. Had Vuk’s brother caught him out with that? It seemed like the case, with the snarled response that followed. “Just. Go.” The sound of something (Vuk’s fist, Marko assumed) slamming into the kitchen table followed. “ _Go._ Get out of my fucking sight before I wring your neck.”

Moments later, one of the doors on the lower level was banged shut. Silence fell. When it became clear that the younger brother wasn’t making his way to the staircase, Marko deemed it safe to creep downstairs, though the steps croaked enough that anyone would be aware he was coming down. The door separating the hallway and the kitchen was still wide open, the light from ahead spilling through. Vuk was hunched over the table, and didn’t spot Marko as he entered.

“Uh. Hey.” He leant his shoulder against the doorframe, a small frown crossing his face when Vuk didn’t glance up. “Thanks, by the way. For the clothes.”

The Alpha made a dismissive motion with his free hand; his chin was propped up with the other. He crinkled his nose a bit, and for a moment, Marko thought he might lash out at him. Instead, he spoke in a half-hearted tone, “You wanna do some cooking?”

Until then, Marko had forgotten he hadn’t eaten in a long time. Though he’d managed to live alone long enough, he’d never been great at cooking. Back in the village, he’d received food easily reheated from the housewives there, which was fine considering he didn’t get much in terms of payment otherwise. Most of the time, that was how he got by. Tentative, he asked, “What’ve I got to work with?”

“Rabbit.” Vuk thumbed over his shoulder, adding with bitterness, “Freshly slaughtered. Courtesy of my idiot brother.”

“Er, he’s an idiot ‘cause he slaughtered rabbits?” Marko enquired, pretending to be none the wiser as he eyed the couple of carcasses slumped upon the countertop behind Vuk.

The Alpha sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. He lifted his head, turning it in the direction of the other inward door, and raised his voice anyway - on purpose, so that his brother could hear from the next room, “He’s an idiot ‘cause he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about what’s good for him or for others!”

“I’ll uh.” Marko began. He was interrupted by a hefty thud from the other room. “I’ll give it a shot.” Rolling up the sleeves of the fresh shirt he’d put on, he stepped into the kitchen and towards the counter. “Ya gonna help me, at least?”

“I don’t cook.” Vuk snorted, leaning back in his seat. “That’s what Omegas and women are for.”

“Oh, right.” Marko responded with disdain. “‘Cause I forgot, all Alphas’re good for is tellin’ others what to do and breakin’ shit.”

The chair’s legs slid back with a grinding noise against the hard floor, as Marko turned towards the counter, his back to Vuk. A moment later, he decided that what he’d just retorted with, in a casual, uncaring manner, might have been the wrong thing to say. The Alpha, now on his feet, grabbed his wrist and, with a single, powerful tug, turned him back around to face him. Looming centimetres from Marko’s face, forcing him up against the counter in a short-lived state of shock, eyes widened. Vuk glared, cold and displeased.

“You live in my house, you do what I tell you to do.” He spoke beneath his breath, his dirtied nails digging into the skin of Marko’s wrist. “You got that?”

 _This shit again._  He fought the urge to roll his eyes; if he did, he might’ve gotten more than a hard tug on his arm. The hold on its own was bad enough. Just talking back to him like that had set him off? Tilting his head away, Marko snorted. “Or what? You’ll throw me out?” The Alpha scowled, but didn’t answer, and so he continued, “Knock it off, Vuk. Ya don’t frighten me.”

Easing off his grip and moving back a bit, Vuk’s expression neutralised. He lowered his gaze with a huff. “Sorry.” He didn’t _sound_ sorry whatsoever, but Marko presumed he wouldn’t have said it at all if he wasn’t. “M’pissed at my brother.”

Rubbing at his wrist, Marko remarked with sourness, “Yeah, well, I’m not him. Or your punchin’ bag.”

Vuk let out a heavy sigh. “Just stop being a smartass, yeah? I’m letting you stay here.”

“Doesn’t mean ya got any authority over me.” Marko turned towards the rabbit again, hoping Vuk had the sense not to force him back once more. Remembering what João had told him about the stronghold’s rules for home ownership, he asked, “S’this even your home, or does it belong to your brother and his wife?” He reached across the counter for a knife.

At first, Vuk didn’t answer. Marko wasn’t sure what he was doing whilst his back was turned, but the sound of a cupboard closing indicated he’d been looking in one a little while later.

“What makes you think it’s not mine?” He asked, voice gruff.

Strange as it felt going to an easier topic after their abrupt disagreement, Marko answered, “João and I got talkin’ about this place, and he told me there’s a waitin’ list.”

Vuk made a single grunting noise, a few moments before he spoke again. “Yeah, it’s in their name. Might as well be mine, though.”

Hovering the knife over the first of the rabbits, Marko paused. “Uh.” He twisted his head over his shoulder. “S’this a bad time to mention, I don’t actually know how to prep these?”

Dumping a pile of vegetables he’d collected from the cupboard on the counter beside him, Vuk narrowed his eyes. “How the hell’d you manage to live on your own for four years?” He pulled the knife out of Marko’s hand. “Fine, I’ll do it. You at least know how to chop onions, right?”

By the time they’d finished preparing the meal, placing it in a heavy-based dish and into the oven, Marko was drained of energy, even though all the tasks he’d done were simple enough. The two of them took seats at the table; Vuk had mentioned that they didn’t set a timer, but rather, used the clock above the kitchen window as a judge of when food was ready.

“Sis cooks most of the time.” The Alpha murmured, eyeing said clock. “She’s out of the city right now. My brother’s with her. They won’t be back ‘til tomorrow.”

Though he was paying attention to Vuk’s words, Marko’s eyes had slid away from the man, and towards a face that had appeared at the far door. It belonged to a young man with a prominent frown on his face; he had downturned brows and thick cheekbones that made him look as if he was squinting in the light. Half of his hair, dark and shaggy, was pulled back in a loose but high ponytail, the rest falling forwards in layers, framing traces of mild acne and other such imperfections. Despite the obvious youth in his face, he did look quite similar across the eyes to his older brother.

The younger Alpha slid out into the kitchen, making his movements as quiet as possible. Casting a meek look at Marko, he broke eye contact a second later. Vuk folded his arms when he drew close, not turning his head in his direction.

“There’s a lot of sharp objects in here.” He spat. “Better not piss me off again if you don’t want one in you.”

How old had he said he was? Sixteen? Height wise, he didn’t look short for his age, but he was also much skinnier than Vuk was, across the waist and the shoulders. Marko had to wonder if it was his place to say anything, but the boy looked pretty shaken up, eyes trained on the floor. “He’s just a kid.”

“M’not a kid!” The young Alpha snapped all of a sudden, his hands balling into fists.

The outburst startled Marko a bit - he watched as dark amber eyes filled with ire shot daggers at him. _So, the short fuse runs in the family._

“What, the guy comes to your defence and you shout at him?” Vuk lifted his hand to wave the boy off. “You got issues, kid. He’s a guest. You’re s’posed to say ‘hello’. I didn’t raise you to have crappy manners.”

Marko wouldn’t have been surprised if the complete opposite were true, he thought to himself, but he was quite sure Vuk was speaking with his tongue in his cheek. “Ehh. Look, s’fine.” He forced a smile, turning his attention back to the young man. _Dealing with both of them at once might be the end of me. And there’s another brother, too._  “Are uh. Are ya havin’ dinner with us?”

Vuk said nothing, as the teen took the empty seat between the two of them, shoulders tensed. The room fell still, after that, the ticking of the clock’s second hand the only thing filling the awkward quietness.

Feeling like he needed to let out a long sigh, Marko cast his eyes towards the clock. It hadn’t even been two minutes since the rabbit had gone into the oven. “So. Uh.” Conversation with strangers was not his strong point whatsoever, but like the journey with Vuk across The North, he was sure he’d go insane if the uncomfortable silence went on. “D’ya have a name?” He asked.

“Ilir.”

“Ilir, huh?” Marko began to say, but the young man interrupted him to speak again.

“It’s a name from the Eastern States. It means ‘freedom’.” He gave Vuk a sidelong scowl.

Vuk pinched at the bridge of his nose. “It’s your name, not a Goddamn metaphor.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Marko asked, “Your family’re from the Eastern States?” More than wanting to diffuse their abrasive behaviour towards each other, he was genuinely curious this time.

Ilir shifted in his seat, as if discomforted by the question. Vuk lowered his hand to give a brusque response, “Yeah. You could say part of it is.” The frown on his face was evidence enough that he didn’t want to discuss it in detail.

Being brief about it, Marko commented, “Yeah, my lineage goes back there, too.”

“Who are you, anyway?” Ilir gave him a look of suspicion, once he’d mentioned that.

The young Alpha had put him on the spot, there. Marko sat further upright. Had Vuk filled his brother in on anything yet, before he’d started to scold him? “I’m Marko.” Was his plain answer.

“You’re wearing my brother’s clothes.”

Vuk interjected at that, “He’s a guest, brat. I already told you that, didn’t I?”

“How long is he staying?” Ilir narrowed his eyes at his older brother. “Does Sis even know?”

“What d’you think? Pretty sure she still thinks I’m at the outpost.” Leaning back in his seat, hands folded behind his head, Vuk continued, whilst peering at Marko from across the table, “He’s staying ‘til he can ‘go back home’. So he says.”

Breaking their eye contact to glance at Ilir, Marko muttered, “Yeah. S’right.”

“Where’s he gonna sleep?” The next enquiry from the young Alpha was presented slowly with a sour expression, evident that he wasn’t going to like whatever response he got.

“My room. I’m taking the spare bed in yours.” Vuk gave him a somewhat unperturbed answer. More than a little displeased, Ilir hissed out a heavy exhale. The brunet cocked an eyebrow. “It’s me or him, brat. Your brother or a guy you just met five minutes ago.”

Though Ilir went quiet again, then, the air of gloom around him didn’t lift. Marko had chosen a long sleeved shirt from the drawers in Vuk’s room for the purpose of hiding the tattoo on his wrist, but he couldn’t help but think that hiding who he was from the young Alpha wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t seem happy about having him around at all, though he did have an understanding as to why. The revelation of him being an Omega might well have blown up in all their faces, if it was kept secret.

“Hey.” Marko murmured, to Vuk. “Did ya tell him about... Me?”

“ _You_?” Vuk replied. Both brothers gave him identical low-browed looks of confusion.

That was a no, then.

“I’m an Omega.” He told Ilir, being as straightforward about it as possible.

His eyes, for a moment, narrowed into thin slits, before they went wide. He twisted his head towards Vuk for a moment, before directing his reaction at Marko, “How? You don’t have a scent!”

“Suppressants.” Now that Marko thought about it, it was a little embarrassing to have to explain that to everyone that asked. “Before ya start worryin’, I don’t plan to stop takin’ ‘em any time soon.”

Ilir slumped his shoulders again, lower lip protruding. For a little while, he cast his gaze down at the table, before lifting it up towards Vuk. “And you’re okay with that?” He asked, like it was the strangest thing he’d heard.

“You pass fertile Omegas by every day, don’t you? Do they bother you?” The older Alpha droned.

“N-Not in my home.”

“You’ve still got the mentality HQ drilled into you.” As Vuk spoke, he looked bored. “That it’s dangerous for Alphas to generally fraternise with fertile Omegas. It’s called propaganda, kid. Lies designed to keep us in line, make sure we don’t do what they don’t want us to. Drop it.”

Gritting his teeth, Ilir shot a harsh glare at Vuk that took Marko by surprise. “That sure is fucking rich coming from _you_.”

Marko turned his attention towards the clock, hoping to God that time would somehow jump forward. He didn’t want to be at the centre of their sibling spat; if dinner was ready, that might have at least postponed it.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Vuk responded with a lowered voice.

“You know what it means!” Ilir began to yell. “Is that what this guy is, some kind of scapegoat!? It’s fine for _you_ to encourage ‘fraternising with fertile Omegas’, but you won’t do it yourself! Remember what you did to--”

Vuk interjected just loud enough to stop the other Alpha’s speech mid-sentence. “ _Shut up_. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. _That..._ ” He put great emphasis on the word ‘that’, almost spitting it out. “Has nothing to do with fraternising.”

At this point, Marko was torn between a sense of morbid curiosity and really not wanting to get involved. The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife. There was something much deeper between them than a normal rivalry between siblings, and he didn’t think it was just because both of them had disagreeable streaks. He coughed a bit, glancing between the two of them. “What d’ya mean by me bein’ a ‘scapegoat’?” The question was more than a little awkward to bring up. “Your brother’s just been helpin’ me out. Nothin’ more.” _Sure, and you’re wearing his clothes and sleeping in his bed, tonight._

“Let it go. The brat’s talking out of his ass.” Vuk told him, firmly. After a moment’s pause, he turned to his brother, “He’s right, though. Not that it matters, but there’s nothing going on.”

Holding a (still rather suspicious) look in Marko’s direction, Ilir fell silent again. His face crumpled, and he rose from his seat, with a screech from the chair’s legs. “I’m gonna eat later.” He declared, voice flat. And then, he had disappeared into the hallway, smacking the door shut in his wake.

 _What was all that about?_ Marko wanted to ask. Instead he bit the inside of his lip, peering across at Vuk. “Is he, uh...” He started to mutter. “...Is he gonna be okay?”

“Sure. He’s not in rut. Not that there’s much he can break anyway.” Vuk replied with a sense of sardonicism, well aware that wasn’t quite what Marko was asking about. Leaning forward on the table with his head in his hands, he groaned. “Damned brat.” He lifted his head to look back at Marko. “You don’t have any brothers yourself, huh?”

“Nah.” He replied, his lips spread into an unenthusiastic smile. “My Alpha father got caught up in some kind of freak accident on patrol in The South. They never found any trace of him to bring back.” The blanketed arm burnt into his memory resurfaced. Somehow, though he knew his parents hadn’t clicked in the same way he had with his own Alpha, he was glad that Iliya had never had to experience that. “My Omega father was never reassigned.”

“They usually didn’t reassign.” Vuk said, stretching his arm to the drawer below the counter behind him. “The process was a pain in the ass for ‘em, ‘specially if the Omega already had a kid.”

The next thing Marko said dropped out of his mouth; he didn’t think about what he was saying until he’d almost finished the sentence. “They said they’d reassign me, but then...” Bringing himself to an abrupt halt, he took in the look of contempt Vuk was giving him, hand resting on the edge of the open drawer. “Wh-What?”

Starting to rummage around, Vuk muttered, “‘But then’?” He didn’t seem like he wanted to know, or rather, something about what Marko had said in particular about reassignment had bothered him.

“Oh, uh.” Marko hesitated. He’d spoken without thinking, and now - especially given the other’s reaction - he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue. Suppressed memories rose through his mind: empty, bleach-white rooms, faceless figures, and an uncomfortable crushing sensation that was beginning to manifest. His upper body felt heavy. “I was just thinkin’ out loud.”

Though Vuk narrowed his eyes a bit at his response, he didn’t press the matter, his attention back on what he was searching for. A little later, he pulled out a small, pouch-like package and tossed it onto the table, then, hand back in the drawer, asked, “You smoke, don’t you? Or do you just carry that lighter ‘round for the sake of it?”

It was getting close to a week since Marko had smoked last. Considering everything that had happened since, he was amazed he had fought the urge off, hunger and tiredness taking priority (he was also amazed he hadn’t already snatched the pouch off the table and inhaled it raw). Shaking off the unpleasant thoughts he’d put back in his head, he replied, “Yeah. I could use a smoke right now.”

Ilir didn’t reappear after they’d finished eating. Close to eight o’clock, with no qualms about leaving the leftovers or the used dishes out, Vuk left his seat and headed for the hallway door.

“I’m taking a bath. Go ahead and sleep if you want.”

Deciding he was tired enough to do just that, Marko dragged his feet upstairs not long after the Alpha. The sound of the water running echoed across the landing, he stepped into Vuk’s room, turning the light on and shutting the door firmly behind him.

He’d set his medication on the stack of books next to the bed, before he’d gone downstairs for dinner. _How many days has it been? Two?_ He mused to himself, remembering he’d knocked one back with a glass of water back at the inn. Noting that he needed to take one in the morning, he started to undress for bed.

Vuk’s clothes, he found, had a much looser fit on him than he’d expected. He reserved the clothes he’d worn for dinner, folding them into a neat pile, and threw on a t-shirt from the dresser. After shutting off the light again, he crossed the room. Then he lowered himself down to the mattress and crawled beneath the sheets. He did everything very tentatively, as if even conducting the simple task of getting ready for bed, he might manage to put a foot wrong. The absolute quiet of the room didn’t help.

Laid on his back in the dark, he stared up at the ceiling, and sucked in a deep breath through his nose. No scent followed. The suppressants were still working just fine. It was hard to believe the room belonged to an Alpha, let alone that the whole house carried traces of three of them.

 _Four years_ , he thought: it had been four years since he’d last been in an Alpha’s bed (not that he considered it much of a milestone). The thoughts he’d tried to smoke away before dinner started to flock back to the front of his mind. _Why do I keep remembering that time?_ The answer to that he knew well enough. Everything about the stronghold - the other Alphas and Omegas, and their camaraderie - was a flagrant reminder of the program. He wished it wasn’t so. It was why he’d never wanted to return to the capital. He knew the memories would come - that he’d have to face them, one way or another. And that was something he didn’t think he’d ever be ready to do.

“A _real life, mature_ Omega.” Thick and eager, the voice rang through him the moment he’d let his eyes close. He saw the disheveled, almost haggard face again; heard the sloppy licking of its lower lip, felt the cold fingertips on his exposed skin. The cracking gunshot followed.

He roused with a jolt. The room still pitch black, he winced with a short groan. _That, too?_ He was certain that he hadn’t drifted off for more than five minutes. Turning on his side, he wriggled into a more comfortable position than on his back. The incident at the cabin was still fresh in his mind, and so was the gut-wrenching horror that came with it. _Great. Another memory I could do without._ Until then, he hadn’t thought it possible to be so tired that it made sleep more difficult.  _Your head’s just fucking with you. Think of something else. What about the clinic, tomorrow?_

The next thudding sound that brought him out of sleep was a bang on the door. He woke to the pallid morning tinting the room with a dim light through the curtains.

“Wh-What is it?” He grunted in a half-roused state, twisting onto his other side. The duvet was warm, and his body still ached.

“Gettup. You gotta go to the clinic.” Vuk’s voice rumbled from the landing. Marko heard his footsteps shuffling on the floorboards a moment later.

What time was it? Had he managed to sleep through the night, after all? He sat up in bed, eyes squinting and adjusting to the still unfamiliar surroundings. No matter how exhausted he still felt, it was time to find out what his new (temporary) place of work was all about.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where d’you work, anyway?”

Though the morning was crisp, there were gaps of blue in the clouds; the flurries of sleet and snow seemed to have passed by, for the time being.

“Everywhere.” Vuk answered him. He snorted a bit. “Or, nowhere.”

Marko began to think back to the singular statement he’d heard the night before. ‘He’s a criminal, in every sense of the word’. Roderich must have been referring to things that had happened outside of the stronghold. Still curious about what it meant for certain, Marko had yet to think of how he was going to find it out. Vuk often didn’t give straight answers; his response then had proven that.

“So, odd jobs, then?”

“Yeah. Today I’m helping build a new home. Tomorrow I could be elsewhere.” After that, he dismissed the matter. “By the way, my brother and his wife’ll be back today. So Ilir says, anyway. The door at home should be unlocked by the time you’re done.”

The clinic was a surprisingly short walk from the house. After heading closer to the front gate, it was a direct turn down a leftbound lane. Upon first glance it would have been mistaken for another residential building, further inspection revealed it was two of the structures erected side-by-side without a gap whatsoever. A sign beside the wide doorway read in bold lettering: **AO CLINIC**.

“Well, see you later.” Vuk said, in the very moment they’d arrived. He pivoted around to head back the way they’d come.

“O-Oi.” Marko coughed. “You’re just gonna leave me to go in myself?”

“You’re a grown man, aren’t you?” The Alpha didn’t even stop to reply. “You probably know the guys in there, anyway.”

With bitterness, Marko repeated under his breath, “‘Probably’.” He gave the back of Vuk’s head a hard stare, before he opened the door ahead of him with a firm push.

Not unlike the infirmary area at the HQ building, everything inside the clinic was whitewashed and plasticky, a heavy scent of cleaning fluids filling his nostrils upon entry. The foyer he found himself in was, asides from a few chairs strewn about in a makeshift waiting area, empty, and silent enough that he could hear a pin drop. _Good job, Vuk. You might be busy, but I have no idea where I’m supposed to be going._  The room broke off either side at the end into two corridors. Hadn’t he been told just to turn up? Was there someone supposed to be waiting for him? Perhaps everyone was busy.

Marko took the left corridor, and passed a row of doors, eyeing each one, hoping to find some kind of indication of his intended location. The passage took a hard right a little ways down, splitting off into a much longer hallway. To his initial surprise, he caught sight of someone at the far end of the turn. He stalled, hearing their oncoming footsteps just after. Narrowing his eyes, he focused on their appearance. The ordinary, albeit professional shirt and pants, hanging crumpled from his skinny form, didn’t give much away by themselves, but once they drew closer, something clicked in Marko’s brain.

When Vuk had said ‘You probably know the guys in there’, he hadn’t been wrong whatsoever.

At first, there was a strange sensation pooling in his stomach - something akin to guilt; in turn, this made him feel conflicted. Marko didn’t know what to do, or to say - he hadn’t thought about how he was going to face those he’d been familiar with in the program, after spending years with the hope in the back of his mind that the day would never have to come. It seemed like cowardice, he thought, which didn’t help at all.

 _It’s definitely him._ Chestnut-brown hair, pinned back, a beak-like nose and flat chin, in addition to his lanky form. The moment he caught sight of Marko, he seemed to react the same way he had done; he paused at a good few yards’ distance, and eyed his face until the realisation had set in.

“S-Sa-- Samuil!?” The name fell out of the man’s mouth in a stammer.

Marko forced a grin, although it was sheepish. “Eh. Mornin’, Tolys.” The brunet had all but frozen, like he had seen a ghost. Was that a better reaction than he could have hoped for…? “I’ve come to, y’know. Work.” No answer. Tolys didn’t make a single noise, but the colour had drained from his face; he looked like he was going to pass out. Marko took a few cautious steps towards him. “Hey, what’s with that weird look?” He let out an awkward chuckled.

“Y-You.” The brunet sucked in a deep breath, staring at Marko like a deer caught in headlights. “It-It’s really you, Samuil?”

 _Sort of._ “Yeah.” Another careful step. “I uh, don’t go by that name any more, though.”

Tolys gave a short exhale, but he didn’t look like he’d calmed down much. “I. We. Everyone. We thought you...” Gaining a small bit of composure, he continued, “We thought you were dead.”

Unsure that an appropriate response to that existed, Marko rubbed at the back of his neck. “Can’t say that surprises me.” He would’ve been content to have let them continue to believe that. Now he considered it on the spot, it _did_ sound selfish. Whether it was appropriate for the moment or not, he gave the other man a loose hug, not expecting him to return it.

“Where have you been, a-all this time!?”

“A village in The North.” Lifting his shoulders in a shrug as he pulled back, Marko added, “It’s a long story, though. I came to work, not talk.”

Tolys lowered his head a bit. “Um. There’s no work today. Just the small handful of patients... We’re on...” He brought his hand to his forehead. “...S-Standby.”

“No work?” Marko wished he could be disappointed. He peered down at the other. “You should probably sit down, by the way. Sorry for the shock.”

“Y-you’re right.” The brunet rubbed his finger at the inside of his eye. “Um. Follow me, please?”

Expecting the other to lead him further into the clinic, he instead walked with him to an unlabeled room back around the corner from where they’d met. A small, well-used kitchenette, a few armchairs and a couch were inside.

Tolys went straight for one of the seats, whilst asking, “D-Do you know how to use a coffee maker?”

Glancing at the kitchenette, Marko gave an upfront answer, “What, that filter? Sure I do. Ya want me to?” The brunet nodded, and so he did as he was instructed. _First task in here and it’s brewing a damned pot of coffee. Almost feels like a joke._ “Ya still take it black?”

“Please.”

By the time Marko was finished, Tolys’s face had regained colour, though it had become a blotchy, off-peach colour.

“In all honesty...” Marko began, setting one of the steaming mugs on the table in front of the other. “I thought someone’d know I was comin’.”

Gripping the mug between both hands, Tolys responded, “I-I’m sure someone knew. Perhaps it was made known during a shift that wasn’t mine, but, you’re the last person I expected to see this morning.” He jolted a bit, at his own words, the dark liquid in his mug splashing. “Ah! I don’t mean that in a bad way, of course!”

“You haven’t changed much, have ya?” Marko snickered, before he took a swig of his own coffee. “But honestly, I thought I’d have work to do today, even if it was somethin’ pretty simple.”

“Well, you’ll need to ask the supervisor about that. Though, I think he’s quite busy right now. He’s asked not to be disturbed at all.”

“So I gotta hang out and drink coffee ‘til he’s done? Guess it doesn’t sound so bad.”

Taking a few sips from his drink, the brunet let the room drift into silence again. There was still a very slight shake in his hands when he moved them. Marko didn’t blame him, and did feel bad for giving him such a fright. Tolys had always been somewhat easily spooked, for as long as he could remember (and Marko knew first-hand that their sharing a pack with a terror like Mihai, always quick to point out the most squick-filled parts of their roles as medics, hadn’t helped). Come to think of it, did Tolys know about what had happened to Mihai?

Marko cleared his throat. “Hey, uh. Ya didn’t really think I was _dead_ , did ya?” Though it made enough sense, it was an odd thing to think about. “Didn’t ya stay in contact with Erzsébet?”

“Erzsébet? N-Not after leaving the program. Though, I have heard of her visiting the stronghold before.”

“It was mostly ‘cause of her that I was able to get to The North and stay there.”

Replacing the startled one, a look of mild anticipation appeared on Tolys’s face. “Oh. Well. You disappeared off our radar completely, so, Umm.” And then, his expression became apologetic. “If I remember rightly, indeed, we did think you had left the city, but with no other information, we assumed you missing and... Yes, likely dead.”

Making a drawn out ‘hmm’ sound, Marko took the next seat along from the other. “So, by all accounts, at least inside the stronghold, ‘Samuil Iliya’ is dead?” Tolys gave him a slow nod. Once he’d taken a little while to chew it over, Marko muttered behind the rim of his mug, “Well. I wouldn’t say that’s wrong.”

“Huh? You’re here now though, aren’t you?” The brunet began to say. “We do have files on everyone, but it won’t be difficult to change yours.”

He wasn’t going to understand unless Marko told him what he meant in a straightforward manner. _Samuil is dead. Samuil died four years ago._ “Nah, nah.” He waved his hand a bit, as if to brush off Tolys’s words. “See, I’m not Samuil any more. Told ya before, didn’t I? I don’t go by that name any more. Call me Marko.”

“Marko?” Tolys repeated, lowering his coffee. “I-If that’s what you wish, then, but, why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you choose a different name?”

Somehow, he felt like he was repeating himself. “Well. ‘Cause I’m a different person. I went to The North to start a new life. I couldn’t really do it without a new name.”

As he took another small sip of his coffee, the brunet’s gaze drifted away, remaining so for a short while; his countenance was pensive. “Marko.” He muttered, as if the name belonged to a foreign location he couldn’t pronounce. “Marko. May I, um.” And then, his eyes were back on him. “May I ask you something personal?”

The proposal took him aback a bit. Did Tolys mean ‘personal’ regarding himself, or regarding Marko? “Uh, sure.”

“You’re taking suppressants, aren’t you?”

Hadn’t that gone without saying? Feeling his lips spread into a frown, Marko replied, “Uh, yeah. Kinda obvious, isn’t it?”

“Where did you get them from?”

He shrugged a bit. “Erzsébet would bring me what she could get ahold of.”

Tolys was the one frowning, now. “How long have you been taking them for?”

 _Oh, so that’s what he’s getting at._  The suppressants were not intended for long term use. They had only existed in the first place for Omegas on the battlefield to use, to delay an oncoming heat if need be. Later, their use had spread to the rest of the Omegas, particularly among those who had demanding jobs, such as the medics, or those who had young children in their care. Using them for prolonged periods was said to create unpleasant side effects. Though, Marko - having yet to experience any - considered it a bogus claim.

“Since I left.”

“F-Four years, then!?” Tolys’s body went tense. “You’re... H-How are you still breathing!?”

Rolling his eyes, Marko replied behind the rim of the mug, “Geeze. You’d think I was drinkin’ bleach. I’m careful with it, Tolys, that’s how. I only take what I need.”

“Still! It’s irresponsible.”

“I did what I had to do. I couldn’t take a week off in The North, ‘cause of heat.” He thought back to his empty cabin, all that way away. “I was their only doctor.”

The brunet released a deep sigh. “Then, now you’re here, you shouldn’t take them any more.”

“That’s uh, not possible. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.” In fact, the notion of living in a house with three Alphas was making him consider increasing his dosage to one tablet a day, so as to be on the safe side.

Tolys had never been the argumentative type. He hung his head a bit in defeat. “If... If you say so, I suppose. Please don’t let yourself get hurt, though.”

“I’m fine. They’re tiny pills, what real damage can they do?”

“That’s... That’s not something a medic should say.” The brunet rubbed at his eyes.

The door of the room creaked open, and their heads twisted in that direction. A young blond man in a long white coat, round-faced and bespectacled, peered inside. His eyebrows raised the moment he spotted Tolys. “Ah! There you are. We’re ready to go.”

“R-Right! Of course.” Rising from his seat, the brunet glanced at Marko. “Ah, Eduard, this is...” He faltered a bit. “ _Marko_.”

“Oh. A pleasure, Mr. Marko.” The newcomer offered a polite smile, but he didn’t seem too impressed. “Sorry to have to interrupt your coffee break. There’s a patient waiting on Tolys and I.”

Tolys paused in thought. “Actually.” He asked Marko, “How much experience do you have with the incubation chambers?”

“Only what I got from the mandatory year.” Which brought another question to mind, “Wait, HQ let ya have the incubation chambers from the program?”

Eduard took the opportunity to give a blunt answer to that, “Seven of them. Quite generous of them, actually.”

Then the idea that HQ were, in a way, making sure that Omegas continued to exist, was more or less the truth. Incubation chambers were devices that kept an Omega alive for their final few months of pregnancy, supporting the internal organs that would otherwise be crushed by their fetus. Use of the chambers required putting an Omega laid inside the device to sleep, before a minor surgical procedure hooked the necessary equipment to their body. An Omega would be monitored in this state until a suitable time to deliver their child came. More often than not, Alphas and Omegas were born premature in comparison to humans, a typical pregnancy for an Omega would last seven months. So HQ _wanted_ the stronghold to have the very devices that kept their kind alive. They wanted _them_ alive. But -  _why_?

“I think until the supervisor finds work for you, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to help me out.” Tolys explained. “Eduard has asked me if I’ll oversee his incubation procedure this morning.”

The blond made a puzzled face. “Oh, you’re an Omega as well, then?” He asked Marko. “Ah.” He seemed to realise just then why he had yet to notice. “Sorry. That must have been rude of me to ask.”

“Nah.” Marko took a gulp of his coffee. _I might as well get used to it._

An uneventful walk out of the break room and back along the corridor took the three of them to a ward, upon which was a section of the corridor that very much resembled the designated incubation area in the infirmary of the HQ building. Mounted upon the corridor walls were two windows, hung either side of a bolted metal door. They overlooked a darkened room that, as expected, contained the incubation chambers. Long and thin, they were arranged in rows at either side of the room, much like regular hospital beds. Reflective of the advanced technology HQ were capable of harnessing, they almost seemed out of place in the otherwise basic environment of the clinic. The active chambers lit the room - two on the left side, one on the right; each had a glowing ring wrapped around its circumference, indicative of the status of the Omega inside. Those that were active were green, the empty ones without a light at all, and, towards the far left wall, a single strip of blue - one that was awaiting activation.

Situated on the wall next to one of the windows was a panel, which switched on the moment Tolys put his finger to it. Various information appeared on the screen regarding the subjects inside the chambers. As Eduard began to unbolt the door, Tolys turned to Marko, “Could you keep your eye on everything here?”

“Sure.” Marko replied plainly. Though it was pushing seven, perhaps eight years since he’d last had to use an incubation chamber panel, he’d never found it much of a challenge. The intention was to raise alarm with those performing the procedure if anything such as the Omega’s heart rate or oxygen levels dropped, but seeing as how the medics inside would have a good grasp on those things to begin with, it was more of a safety net than anything else.

As he took his position in front of the panel, he glanced inside, just as Eduard was opening the door. There was movement inside the room, but it was difficult to make anything in particular out asides from the shapes of a few figures caught in the chambers’ glows. Just after Tolys and Eduard had entered the room, there was a muttering Marko couldn’t quite make out, and then the door was shoved back shut - but not until a different person, albeit one he recognised, had emerged.

“João?”

The named man looked over, and seemed just as surprised to see Marko as he did him. “Good morning.”

Though giving it a second thought, the answer might have been obvious, Marko asked, “What’re you doin’ here?”

A small smile crossed João’s face. He gave a quiet answer, “I was saying goodnight to my love. He’ll be here for the next few months.”

Marko jogged his memory, thinking back to the evening before. João had mentioned having a bonded partner. He hadn’t said anything about him expecting, though. He’d gotten no such indication. “Oh. Right. I didn’t know.”

“Yourself?”

He eyed the panel out of caution. “I’m workin’ here now. So I’ve been told.”

João nodded. “Ah. In that case, I probably shouldn’t be distracting you.” He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the corridor behind him. “I should be going, anyway.”

“Er, so soon?” Marko folded his arms. “Aren’t ya gonna stick around ‘til the procedure’s over, at least?”

To that, he shook his head. When he answered, his voice had lowered in pitch; it was almost stiff, somehow. “This isn’t a place for Alphas. I have done my part.” The smile came back, just before he turned to leave. “I’ll let you be. But if you don’t mind, tell your colleagues I said thanks, would you?”

With that, he was gone.

Left alone in the corridor, Marko returned his attention to the panel, but couldn’t remove from his thoughts the idea that, if things had somehow taken a turn for the worse for them the evening before, João would have left behind more than just a bonded Omega.

 


	11. Chapter 11

“Samuil… Does it worry you?”

Heracles’s voice, soft and leathery, brought him out of his brief state of sleep, and back into their bedroom. Sex and musk hung thick in the air; the bedsheets were still damp with slick and sweat. Samuil’s eyes adjusted to the single strip of light that stretched across the room from the doorway, as he took the question in.

“...Does… Does what worry me?” He uttered, drained of most of his energy; he’d woken to find their initial intercourse had only taken the edge off his heat. It would take more to put him at ease completely.

But it also seemed that Heracles was well aware it wasn’t over. Pressed into Samuil’s side, almost balancing his weight upon him, he nipped at his ear, “...Bearing a child.”

Cock twitching at the action, Samuil groaned, “Hnh… W-Weird time to… Bring that up, huh…?” The Alpha’s teeth sunk a little into his lobe. _Shit, please don’t bite that off…_

Heracles released his ear, and made a throaty ‘hmm’ noise. He lowered his head, body shuffling as well. The wispy ends of his hair brushed over the skin of Samuil’s neck, and a wave of his fresh, earthy scent moved with him; intoxicating, it tensed Samuil’s muscles, threatening to seize them up. He kissed his collarbone, and licked further down his chest. Omegas had always been told to prepare for their Alphas to be somewhat rough… Other than the chewing on his ear, Heracles hadn’t yet been anything of the sort.

“I’m… I’m not...” Samuil began, breath hitching when a wet tongue flicked over his nipple. “ _Shit_ …!” Mid-heat really wasn’t a good time to discuss anything even remotely important. He almost hissed out, “I’m not worried...”

Whether it was an acceptable answer to Heracles didn’t matter. The mix of the brunet’s scent and his motions were a strain on Samuil’s growing erection. He gripped his fingers onto the Alpha’s clothed shoulders, eyeing his form in the relative darkness as he shifted further downwards... The next thing Samuil felt was his legs being pushed apart. Lips suckled at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, coaxing a shiver out of him.

His position was one of vulnerability. Open like that, exposed to the Alpha, he didn’t know what he might do next. Suck him off, perhaps? That would have been welcome, Samuil thought. Heracles’s hands found their way beneath his legs, to his hips; there, he rubbed in gentle, feather-light, almost ticklish motions with his coarse thumbs. Then, putting his tongue to use again, he lapped at the excess slick he was leaking.

_Oh._

Samuil swallowed. “H-Hera... What’re ya…?” The Alpha licked over his entrance with a wet sound, and a hot flush spread across his face and neck. Whimpering, he let the back of his head drop onto the pillow beneath him. Strange a sensation it was, it sent a little jolt up his spine regardless; more so, the second time, and the third. Pulse quickening, Samuil slid his legs onto Heracles’s shoulders, as the other man started to lift his hips… It wasn’t sex with the intent to procreate - it was for pleasure. _He doesn’t have to do this_ , Samuil thought, as the Alpha’s tongue probed at his ass. Nor did he want him to stop.

But it wasn’t going to be enough… Not to grant him relief from his heat.

“ _Ah--_!! I…” Hips buckling a little, Samuil clenched his eyes shut, feeling precum dribble from the tip of his cock. His words became lost in a series of mewling noises, each flick of the Alpha’s tongue rattling his body.

And then Heracles lifted his head again, lips and teeth sliding along the underside of Samuil’s length. His mouth, opened around the tip a moment later, was hot and velvety. He pushed him as far up to his throat as he could, sucking, and using his tongue now to rub.

That was more like it. Curling his toes, Samuil fought hard not to fuck the Alpha’s face. Like the first time, it would have been enough for Heracles to have knotted him, to have left him to deal with his own arousal… That he was willing to make him feel good otherwise now that the hardest part of his heat was through with was more than he’d expected or even wanted, especially from someone who was no doubt just as inexperienced as he was himself. The thought invoked a fluttering in Samuil’s heart. _As long as he’s always like this, I could fall for him one day…_ He might well have been the luckiest Omega in the set.

He croaked, giving the other a fair warning, “I… I’m gonna… C-Come…”

Heracles didn’t stop, not until Samuil was a limp, quivering mess beneath him. He must have swallowed what he’d caught of him; when Samuil glimpsed at his outline in his blurred peripheral vision, he appeared to be wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. The afterglow of his orgasm dulling off, Samuil thought it a damned shame the bedroom lights had been out… Mere moments later, though, and his heat took precedence once again.

“F-Fuck me…” He begged, the very second the discomfort returned. “I… Need ya to…”

Though Heracles was still then, he didn’t seem to be hesitating. With a scuffling noise, the mattress shifted beneath his weight. Adjusting his eyesight as best he could, Samuil realised the Alpha was removing what was left of his own clothes.

“Samuil…” Heracles spoke just above a whisper, somehow sounding serious. “Do you want to bear my children?”

Whether a Samuil that could think with more clarity wanted to or not, his reply was affirmative, “Mmn.”

“Tell me.” The Alpha’s fingers stroked down Samuil’s torso, crossing his stomach. “Let me hear you say it.”

Somehow, Samuil didn’t mind letting what shreds of dignity he had left go… It was pointless not to. But the words, when he tried to form them, still felt foreign in his mouth. “...I wanna…” He licked over his chapped lips. “...Bear your children…”

“Hnh…? What else…?”

 _What else…? What else does he want me to say…?_ “I wanna…” Samuil grimaced a little, starting to feel more flustered. “...Fulfill my purpose… I want ya to fuck me, again and again, ‘til it hurts.” Even if it was hard to see, he could feel Heracles’s gaze upon him… Was it turning him on? The notion was oddly arousing by itself. “Then, even when I’m beggin’ ya to stop ‘cause it hurts, I want ya to fuck me again… I want ya to breed me.”

At that, Heracles took ahold of Samuil’s hips. He pulled on the right, and it took Samuil a moment to realise he wanted him on his front. Samuil shifted onto his knees, the effects of his heat hindering his movement. His ass clenched in anticipation, and fresh slick ran down the inside of his thigh.

Leaning over him, toned chest pressed into his back, Heracles murmured close to his ear, “You’re a good Omega, to want those things…” He trailed airy kisses down the side of Samuil’s neck. Without much more of a warning, his member slipped inside.

Samuil squirmed and arched his body. His heat began to react to the intrusion; his limbs were now supporting him, yet they were threatening to buckle beneath his weight. Heracles slipped a hand beneath him, easing the pressure. The Alpha rolled his hips back and forth, slow and steady, nailing Samuil’s prostate each time, racking his body with the gratification it needed.

Sweat dripped from their bodies, mingling as they rubbed against each other. Though Samuil was whimpering again from the intensity of the other’s movements, his lifeless cock gave little response… He just needed the knot. Just the knot - nothing more.

It was a little less painful than the first time. With the swelling fixing them together, the heat’s effects began to wane. Heracles was shivering behind him, soft grunting sounds emerging from the depths of his throat. The Alpha used a shift in his weight to lay them on their sides, so that his body was spooned against Samuil’s. How worn out Samuil was at that point didn’t matter - the knot would persist for a while.

“...Can… Mnh... You feel it…?” Heracles asked quietly, bumping the bridge of his nose against the nape of Samuil’s neck.

“Hn… Lil’ bit.” Croaked Samuil, assuming he wasn’t referring to the knot, in which case the answer would have been a definite ‘yes’. “Feels full.”

The tips of the Alpha’s fingers brushed in light circles over Samuil’s hips and lower stomach. “I’ll fill you as many times as you need.”

Knowing his heat wouldn’t quite have passed, he held him to his word.

*

Morning broke, shining a muted light through the frosted pane of glass in the window across the bedroom.

Though he had fallen back asleep at some point, Samuil was exhausted - yet, he was also contented, relieved of his discomfort. More than that, even… Every half-lidded glance he took at the Alpha’s lazy, sea-green gaze created a swelling sensation in the depths of his chest. Was it happiness he was feeling…? He hadn’t expected it to be possible.

“What I asked you, last night…” Heracles began in a low rumble. “...Are you sure?”

Reconsidering the question when his mind wasn’t clouded with hormones did embarrass Samuil somewhat. Burying his face in the other’s shoulder, he mumbled, “I meant what I said.”

“...Everything?”

“... _Everythin’_.”

The Alpha’s arms, warm and strong, cradled him. Chin pressed against his forehead, he hushed, “Go back to sleep.”

*

Despite all that had happened, Marko had never doubted his words at that time once. Unpleasant though it may have been to think about, he’d never feared the idea of becoming pregnant. That it was a strain on an Omega’s male body, that the birthing process was difficult, requiring surgery, that there was always the chance that complications would happen before incubation that resulted in deterioration of health or death - he found the typical fears, albeit rational, pointless.

Remembering that time now was bittersweet, at best… But, remembering was something he’d had some time to do, back in the break room of the clinic - alone, this time, whilst waiting on the supervisor to show his face. Seeing the incubation room had evoked the memories. _I was happy, back then, wasn’t I?_ He thought. Even if he hadn’t thought much of their existence, he had something to hope for, a future ahead of him… A future that had crumbled in the blink of an eye.

The break room’s door slid open, and Tolys’s voice roused him from his thoughts, “Sam--” He coughed. “S-Sorry, Marko…?”

After peering over from across the room, Marko readied himself to rise from his seat. “Yeah?”

“Umm… The supervisor said that he’d like you to come back in a few days’ time. Right now he can’t work on rearranging shifts, but he says he’s actually got an important task that day that he still needs someone for.”

Two days time…? What was he supposed to do until then? Marko resigned himself to the idea that it could have been worse and he could have been stuck monitoring the incubation chamber panel all day, or something along those lines. “‘Kay… Uh… What kinda task is he talkin’ about…?”

Tolys was suspiciously sheepish as he replied, “Actually… I’ve no idea.”

Curiosity plagued Marko as he left the clinic, and began to make his way across the stronghold. Upon him asking, a passer-by he encountered on the main street granted him the directions to - vague as his point of enquiry had been - the ‘building site of a new home’. He didn’t know how Vuk was going to react to him turning up there. Would he get mad? Perhaps not with Marko himself, but it was obvious he wouldn’t like him hanging around the house like a spare part for a couple of days.

Walking through the chilly lanes and passages that morning, he found the stronghold had a much different atmosphere in the daytime. There were a few more faces out and about, more sense of invigoration and movement, yet even so, there was a tension about the place. It wasn’t just a cramped space where everyone had to live close-knit, it was a miniscule portion of a much larger society, one that could stroll up to the gates with a band of automata and reclaim the territory. The inhabitants were sitting ducks in a tiny pond, within a much larger lion’s den…

Some ways past the in-tact buildings was an area yet to be built up. Amongst a few structures that were nothing more than foundations or empty plots were measly piles of stone. Plainclothed men were ferrying the stone towards the closest plot, which looked to have the walls of the first story almost completed. But among the men, there was no one he recognised. Marko didn’t know where else to find a building site within the stronghold, however.

“What’re you doing?” Vuk’s voice spoke up behind him.

Somewhat startled, Marko twisted his head over his shoulder and replied, “Uh… I was lookin’ for you, actually.”

Vuk had a questioning frown on his face, and a hefty looking chunk of stone tucked beneath his right arm. “Why’s that? They get sick of you at the clinic already?” He snorted, walking onwards.

Marko rolled his eyes. “The supervisor can’t fit me into the rotor for a few days.”

The moment after he’d dropped the stone onto the nearest pile with a dull thud, the Alpha gave him his full attention, dusting off his hands. “ _Great_. So you’re pretty much useless ‘til then, huh?” Though he looked less than impressed, he added with apathy, as he headed back the way he had come, motioning for Marko to follow him, “Whatever. C’mon, I’ll take you back home.”

Whilst trying not to feel like he was becoming a burden, Marko let his mind wander back to what had happened at the clinic that morning, as he stepped after the other. “By the way, uh… Turns out, you were right.”

“Yeah?” As expected, Vuk didn’t seem the least bit surprised.

“Found someone from my pack. We even had a lil’ time to catch up.” Marko was matter-of-fact with his words; though he supposed he was glad to have seen Tolys again, it had reminded him of just how estranged he had gotten from the other Omegas.

The Alpha peered at him sidelong. “I said you would, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, considerin’ the guy was from Mihai’s pack too, it kinda makes sense you’d have known he’d be there for sure.” Marko scratched the back of his neck.

Vuk lifted his shoulders. “I meant you’d probably see familiar faces in general. Must’ve been Tolys you found, huh?”

Marko gave a slow nod in response. “Yeah. Gave the guy a hell of a fright just by showin’ up there…” He began to mumble. “Looked like he’d seen a ghost… Wish I’d had more time to talk to him…” He paused in thought for a moment. “I didn’t even get chance to ask him what the others’re doin’.”

To that, Vuk said nothing. He was quiet, and therefore, Marko also didn’t speak up again either. Upon clearing some of the distance back to the house from the building site, however, the Alpha lifted his head. A brisk breeze drifted past; his footsteps stalled at this, and he squinted. Eyeing him, it took Marko a little while to realise he was taking in a scent he’d caught. He breathed deep, and began to walk again, quicker this time, his expression softening.

“What is it?” Marko asked, raising an eyebrow. He was forced to jog to keep up with him as they drew close to the building.

“My brother.”

 _Ilir?_ The reaction from the Alpha seemed to infer that it wasn’t the youngest, but their middle sibling. Sure enough, when he had followed Vuk up the side steps, the subject was there, stood with a foot either side of the open front door’s threshold, his back to the frame. The suppressants prevented Marko from identifying his natural scent himself, but what he did get a strong whiff of was, unmistakably, tobacco.

The first thing Vuk said, before he had even reached the top of the steps, was, “Shut the damned door, kid - you weren’t raised in a barn.”

Despite his words, the man was far from being a ‘kid’. Height-wise, he fell just short of the doorframe, and at first glance, bore a great resemblance to their youngest brother: they shared the same black, unkempt hair. With a slow twist of his head, he stared at Vuk from beneath his wispy fringe, his expression one of great disinterest. Odd - wasn’t this the first time they’d seen one another in a while?

“Oh. Brother, dearest.” Tone deep, laboured and sardonic, he sounded as detached as he looked. “It’s _so_ good to see you again.”

Vuk snorted as he came to a standstill on the balcony. “Knock it off.” He peered past the other Alpha, then, inside the house, frowning, but with a questioning look. “Where’s the wife? Heard you two were outta the city yesterday.”

“She dropped her bags and went back out.” His brother muttered, around his cigarette. He stepped off the frame of the door, standing upright. “Think she expects me to unpack ‘em, or something.” When Marko had reached the top of the steps, then, the black-haired Alpha switched his gaze briefly between him and his brother.

“You go to the farm?” Vuk folded his arms.

“Where else?”

Colder, the next enquiry came without delay, “You take Ilir with you?”

The brother blew out a thick line of smoke before he replied. “He came with us and headed back on his own.”

Vuk grunted, his shoulders tensing. Though annoyed by that answer, it seemed he somehow didn’t have it in him to argue the matter. Marko recalled how he’d lashed out at Ilir the night before, and assumed the topic to have been a tiring one.

The black-haired man took another glance in Marko’s direction, his cigarette between his teeth once more. A moment later, he smirked, eyes back on his sibling. “You had a good time in The North, then?”

It took Marko a moment to realise what the smirk implied. Though his stomach sank a bit, he remained just as still and silent as before. On the other hand, Vuk had begun to give a legitimate answer before it sunk in for him.

“ _Gh. Fuck no_ , it was one of the shittiest experiences of…” He squinted at the other Alpha, eyeing Marko sidelong for a second. He all but sighed, “Piss off.” Rubbing at his forehead, he added, “Anyway, I’m supposed to be working.” He directed his next words to Marko, “This lump of shit here…” He jerked his head in the other’s direction. “Is my _little_ brother.” The emphasis on ‘little’ indicated his height; by the looks of it, Vuk was just shy of the other Alpha’s nose. “He goes by Šćepan. Call him what you want, though, it doesn’t matter. You can babysit him ‘til his wife gets back. Easy enough, right?” To his brother, he added, “We can talk about The North when I get back. Or, maybe this guy’ll fill you in. And shut the Goddamned door, already.”

Vuk began to head back to the steps; he passed Marko and headed down without saying much more. Marko suspected he might’ve prefered being left in an empty house, than with the man’s brother under those circumstances. He offered the Alpha, still stood upon the door’s threshold, not having taken much note of the instruction to shut it, a small, awkward smile… But all he did in response was go back to looking bored.

“Uh… Hey.” Marko muttered, shifting his weight between his feet as he wondered if the other was going to move from the doorway at all. He was starting to feel the cold now that he’d been stationary for some time.

Without responding, the man turned and disappeared inside. The next thing Marko heard was the sound of a chair’s legs scraping against the kitchen floor. He crinkled his nose, and stepped through the doorway himself, promptly shutting it behind him. It seemed that Vuk had been right in telling him not to have the door wide open before, because it wasn’t much warmer in the kitchen. Puffing away at his cigarette, the Alpha had taken the seat nearest the entrance; his back to Marko, he was slumped over the table. _He’s definitely Vuk’s brother_ , Marko mused to himself. With caution, after a few prolonged moments of silence had fallen upon the room, filled only by the persistent ticking of the wall clock, Marko approached the centre of the kitchen.

“I uh…” He coughed as he began to explain his situation. “I’m stayin’ here, by the way. Dunno if you’re aware already. I guess not, since ya only just saw your brother just now…”

Without moving otherwise, the man muttered in a monotone, “I know.”

Marko nodded. “Huh… ‘kay…”

“I ran into my younger brother before I got back here. He said, ‘Vuk came back from The North, and he got pissed off ‘cause you let me go home by myself’.” The longer he spoke, the more his voice droned. “And then he said, ‘he also brought an Omega home from The North to stay, and he’s sleeping in his bed, but he takes suppressants so doesn’t have a scent’.”

‘ _He’s sleeping in his bed’_. Upon repeating the words over in his head, in Ilir’s voice no less, Marko felt like dying right on the spot. “Oh…” He mumbled, inwardly cursing. “Well, uh… He’s right. I am all those things.” When the other didn’t give any kind of response, he added, “That doesn’t bother ya, does it…?”

The Alpha peered up at him, and seemed to examine his face for a short while. Both were very still in the meantime. “You always take suppressants?”

“Yeah. Always.” _Every three days or more often, with water._ It was inevitable, but Marko’s mind went back to his conversation with Tolys earlier that morning. Now, with an Alpha’s gaze fixated upon him, he dreaded even the fleeting notion of not taking the suppressants.

“Then I don’t give a shit what you do.”

The flippant response didn’t help the current tension in the room. Even so, it did put Marko at ease. He didn’t seem to be saying, ‘I don’t give a shit’, for the sake of brushing him off. Why else would he have asked about the suppressants? On the other hand, he supposed him not caring was better than him caring to the point it would have displaced Marko. Over-complicating his situation was the last thing he needed.

A silence filled with discomfort continued for a short time afterwards; it was akin to the several periods of time Marko had spent with Vuk like that in The North. Šćepan seemed to echo his older brother in his attitude, and the cool, impassive presence he gave off. As Marko came to the realisation that, in this case, he had the freedom to remove himself from the situation - and, in turn, began to wonder where exactly he could go - the doorknob behind him clicked.

Marko assumed that the person entering was Vuk; perhaps he’d forgotten something, and was making a quick return to the house to grab it before heading off again. He looked over his shoulder, when a light breeze rolled in from beyond the open door - and, instead, saw someone who wasn’t at all the person he was expecting.

“Oh, hey! I saw Vuk on the way back, he said he was on his way to the building site.” A soft, cheerful, yet pressing voice began. “He hasn’t even been back from The North a whole day, and he’s already at work. You should probably…”

Intently, Marko stared at the woman, whose words faded when she too caught sight of him. Upon shutting the door, she eyed him with a puzzled expression - but Marko, too, was reflecting this confusion. Her hair, chestnut brown, was tied in a loose ponytail that fell over her shoulder, and she wore a dark shawl over a drab burgundy day dress. Her initial appearance was unremarkable; at a single glance across a crowd, she would have blended in. Yet with the two of them stood still, eye contact fixated between them, Marko’s memory was jogged almost at once. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes and full cheeks gave it away… And, when he’d reached the realisation, he almost didn’t believe what - _who_ \- he was seeing in front of him.

She parted her lips to speak, but, without intending to, he interjected before she could, “I… Know ya, don’t I?”

With a slow blink, she answered, “You look familiar.”

Her face, and her voice, though they had aged, were as he remembered. With the absence of the clinical white walls, it was akin to looking straight into the past. It was bizarre, something that Marko couldn’t quite get his head around. Finding Tolys, and the others from his pack - he could have expected that, but… Finding _her_ there? He uttered, tentatively, “Tatjana?”

Eyes widening, she raised her hands and brought the tips of her fingers to her puckered lips, pensive. Moments of silence passed, long enough for Marko to register that the surprise upon her face was lessening, the questioning returning. Realising that she couldn’t recall who he was, at least not straight away, quashed the short-lived gladness of seeing her.

 _It_ has _been over a decade_ , he reasoned with himself, forcing a faint smile. “It’s Samuil.”

Tatjana lowered her hands. She seemed at a loss for words, so taken aback then that she couldn’t find anything to say. “S-Samuil…” She stammered, blinking. “You’re… Grown up.”

By that point, Šćepan had found enough interest in this meeting to turn around in his seat towards the two of them. “Hnh?” He grunted, towards the brunette. “You know this guy?”

She jumped a bit when the Alpha spoke, like she’d managed to forget he was there. “O-Oh!” Twisting her head in his direction, she replied with a nod, “Yeah.” Briefly, she glanced back at Marko, before explaining to the other man, “When I was still a cadet, he was in the care of the warden I was shadowing.”

Before Erzsébet had taken the post, an older, more matronly warden had been in charge of their pack. It had been part of the Women’s Corps training regiment - new recruits undertook a mandatory year of caretaking at the HQ building. The luckier batch of recruits, like Tatjana, aided the Omegas’ wardens (rather, those assigned to the Alphas’ wardens were considered not so lucky). Between his own training and education and the otherwise linear, methodical, and confined childhood he’d spent in the HQ building, Tatjana’s presence - if only for a year, insignificant in the long run - was something Marko remembered with clarity. He had been fourteen at the time; she had been sixteen, which had made her the same age as the oldest members of set 131. She had been the first girl within his own age bracket he’d ever seen in person, let alone come into contact with. Within the first few days, he and his pack had looked upon her with curiosity for it. For those reasons, she had been memorable.

Šćepan was content with her brief answer, and gave a plain response, whilst Tatjana continued to search Marko’s face, “Huh… So, you’re stuck with him again, then.”

“Stuck...? Stuck how?” She asked him, slowly.

The Alpha paused. “What Ilir said, when we saw him before.”

She frowned, appearing more dumbfounded. It seemed that a decade hadn’t been long enough to dull her sense of obliviousness. Marko did remember that being a very distinct trait of hers - she hadn’t been the brightest crayon in the box, so to speak.

As expected, her realisation was delayed. “Oh.” Her eyebrows raised a bit. “I remember, now.” Something else occurred to her, then. “But… Samuil, weren’t you… Um…” She looked pensive, before she uttered, “Dead…?”

 _She thought that too?_ Marko gave his head a light shake. “Nah, not dead. Just unaccounted for.”

Still, Tatjana didn’t appear at ease, and she then pressed, “...Why is that? And… Why are you here, now?”

Marko didn’t think he could answer that straight away, and he already felt exhausted of using the term ‘it’s a long story’. Instead, he offered, “I can tell ya, but it could take a while.”

She agreed. After they had taken seats at the table either side of Šćepan, Marko began to explain his situation to the two of them. He started with a deep intake of breath; he had to tell them why he’d ended up in The North - which he didn’t find easy. “A few months before the program was dissolved, my Alpha died.”

He told them how he’d become the doctor of his village, changing his name and disguising his identity as an Omega, and how he’d only kept his ties to the capital through Erzsébet. He told them about the night that HQ had entered the village looking for members of the rebellion, and everything that had happened since then - in particular, that Vuk had broken him out of their vehicle, and had then taken him to the capital despite his protests, deeming it the best place for him to be. Tatjana listened with care, and whilst Šćepan looked thoroughly bored, he did also seem to have taken everything in - and was the first to give his blunt opinion, when Marko had finished.

“Sounds like it sucked ass.” He droned, with no visible sympathy, propped up with his elbow on the table.

Tatjana gave a nod of agreement. Since Marko had started talking, she had relaxed a lot, no longer did she look stricken or otherwise confused by his presence. In contrast with the Alpha, she spoke with softness, “Mmh, it really must’ve been awful.”

Šćepan responded, “I mean, walking all that way? My damned legs are aching just thinking about it.”

Crinkling her nose in contempt, Tatjana chided him, “Maybe the distance wouldn’t seem so bad, if you weren’t so lazy!”

“Hnh?” The Alpha gave her an equally unimpressed look. “Did you say something?”

Marko glanced between the two of them, watching as Tatjana bristled. He had already arrived at the assumption that she was Šćepan’s wife - the likelihood of any other woman but her living there was slim, she fit every description he’d been told before - but following their brief conversation, he wasn’t so sure. Would it have been out of place to ask?

“You’re awful!” She grumbled, before turning her attention back to Marko, mustering a milder tone, “You know, even if you didn’t want to come to the capital… It is safe in here. In the stronghold, I mean.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Marko sighed, slumping in his seat. “I don’t mind it in here. But I still wanna go back to The North, when everythin’s blown over.”

Šćepan squinted at him, then. In a cool manner, one that Marko could imagine his older brother doing, he asked, “And what if you can’t?”

 _Can’t?_ Marko paused, before giving a plain reply, “There is no ‘can’t’. Why would there be?”

“You’re on HQ’s shit list. That’s not something you can just sit and wait to blow over.” Gaze fixed upon him, the Alpha continued, “Sure, you could get back outta the city. You could go back to wherever the hell it was you were. What then?” All the while, he kept a firm, unchanged expression. “You think they’ll just forget you told ‘em you’re part of the rebellion, and let you be?” He cocked a brow. “You told ‘em that for a good reason, didn’t you?”

Until that moment, Marko hadn’t thought Šćepan capable of more than a few words. He mused to himself with bitterness: what was it with Alphas and lectures? “If I didn’t, they would’ve flattened the village.” Straightening his back, he brought about a serious tone in his voice. “S’what they do, when they find insurgents in The South.” His hands, resting in his lap, balled into fists. He dug his nails into his palms. “You should know this… You’re an Alpha, aren’t ya? You’ve probably seen it first hand.”

Šćepan snorted. “Sure, I know what they do. Never saw it, though. At the time they stopped the program, I’d barely been out on the field a week.” Since he’d started talking, he hadn’t moved an inch from his position. “Point is, you go back? You risk undoing what you did to stop that from happening.” He took a brief pause, and then, rather nonchalant, he added, “Or, do what you want. Damn yourself, and damn the people in that village, too.” He shrugged, then. “Not like it’s any of my business.”

Though Marko wasn’t quite ready to admit it, Šćepan did have a point. With everything that had happened, considering what consequences might come around if he did return to his village hadn’t been at the forefront of Marko’s mind - only the fact that he wanted to be _there_ and not in the capital had. When the facts were presented to him like that, it was not just selfish, but countered his initial intent. Unsettled by the fact he had to now come to terms with what had been said, his posture loosened; he hung his head and, dejected, asked himself aloud, “That’s my home, though. If I can’t go back there, where _do_ I go?”

A short silence fell across the room, before Tatjana’s voice emerged, somewhat meekly, “You’re the only one who can answer that.” He didn’t know what to think of that response. He glanced towards the brunette with feigned appreciation. She spoke again, “You’re an Omega, so there’s always gonna be a place in here for you.”

At that, Marko sighed, exasperated. Though he knew she meant well with her words, they were hard to accept. “What is it with you guys? You both sound like Vuk.” His eyes flickered between the two others. “That’s the only damned thing I heard from that guy, on the way here. ‘You’re an Omega, so you belong in the stronghold’, ‘You’re an Omega, and I’m an Alpha, so ya gotta listen to what I tell ya to do’.” Their combined gazes were fixed upon his face. He grit his teeth, “I don’t want any of that.”

“Eh?” Šćepan uttered, still without having moved his head or elbow at all, “You were willing to rot in HQ’s detention centre, weren’t you? You think this is worse than that, or being trafficked?”

Finding restraint difficult in that instance, Marko spat, “I never said that!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Whilst he was well aware it was pointless getting angry at them - or, rather, at himself - he couldn’t quite get a grip on his frustrations. Brow furrowed, he swallowed, to try to rid himself of the harshness in his voice. “I’m lucky.” He directed his words at Šćepan. “Damned lucky your brother saved my ass. But I can’t live my life like any other Omega does.”

The Alpha responded, “You _can’t_ , or you _won’t_?” Before Marko could process that and form an answer, he interjected, “Nobody’s gonna make you do the typical Omega shit, not unless Vuk said something about that already.” He waved his free hand in a dismissive manner. “Doesn’t matter if he did, though. S’not like you have to listen to him.”

Marko huffed, “He didn’t say anythin’ like that. Just that I needed to be in here.”

“M’sorry we can’t help more.” Tatjana muttered, biting on her thumbnail. “Do you really not know what to do from here?”

“Not really. I’m s’posed to be joinin’ the clinic, so I can work with the other medics again.” He eyed her as he explained, “But they couldn’t change their rotor straight away, so it won’t be for another few days now. ‘Til then, I don’t really have anywhere else to go, or anythin’ else to do.”

After nodding in agreement, she replied, “Well, I’m here during the day, and most of the time I have mountains of housework to do. If you want something to keep you busy, I sure wouldn’t mind a hand.”

Housework was better than doing nothing at all, Marko supposed. He did think he ought to contribute back to the household somehow, too, seeing as how they were letting him stay there without qualms, and free of charge. Perhaps that was the only feasible way.

He soon discovered that when Tatjana had said she ‘wouldn’t mind a hand’, it had been an understatement. “It should be easy for you; since you lived alone and all, you’ll be used to housework”, she had told him, regarding her request for him to scrub the kitchen floor and countertops, and to give the upstairs bathroom a clean over afterwards. He did as he was asked, though he thought to himself, he’d never let his own home back at the village get into a state where it needed anything more than a surface wipe-down - and so, practise wasn’t something he really had.

Not long after Marko had made a start on the kitchen, Šćepan discarded his cigarette butt and left the room without a word. After showing him where the cleaning supplies were kept, Tatjana also left him to his own devices, though once he’d finished up with the bathroom a couple of hours later, he decided to seek her out. The house was silent and still at that time, as if he were home alone.

He recalled that he hadn’t heard anyone climb the staircase, whilst he was in the bathroom. Unless Tatjana had done so without him hearing, he doubted she was in any of the bedrooms. He headed downstairs, and ditched the cleaning supplies back in the kitchen. On the far side of the kitchen was a doorway that lead to the one downstairs room he’d yet to set foot in; there was another doorway to said room in the hallway, and both doors were shut. Out of curiosity, he opened and poked his head around the door from the kitchen side, not expecting to find much. Indeed, the mystery room was nothing more than a snug sitting room. Clumped together in a space smaller than the kitchen were a few chairs, and cushioned seats that looked like they’d seen better days, as well as a couch, strewn upon which was a long, still body. Marko recognised this as Šćepan’s; he concluded a moment later, noticing he wasn’t moving at all, that the Alpha was asleep. Perhaps the journey he’d taken out of the city and back had worn him out? He backed out and closed the door, deciding he didn’t want to disturb him.

He managed to find Tatjana on the balcony a short time later, a clunking noise outside of the front door giving her location away. Perched on a stool, she was craned over a basin of soapy water, within which she was scrubbing at a white shirt with some considerable force. Absorbed by the task at hand, she didn’t realise Marko was there until he’d stepped into her peripheral vision.

She jumped upon seeing him, letting out a squeak and dropping the shirt in the tub. “Ack!! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

The way she crinkled her nose with a pout as she eyed him after that outburst did make him feel a little bad, but judging by how engrossed she’d looked, he was sure that she’d have reacted the same way, even if he’d announced the fact he was there aloud.

“Sorry.” He said, with a brief shrug. “Anyway, I’m done with the bathroom.”

Her expression changed to one of pleasant surprise. “That was fast.” Whilst continuing to speak, she fished the shirt from the water and gave it a tight wring. “Well, I don’t really have much else for you to do today. It’s all laundry.” Marko winced inwardly; his hands were already rough and wrinkled from scrubbing the bathroom down, he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of tackling the pile of clothing stacked next to Tatjana - not when it was so cold out, either. She half-chuckled, to his relief, “I’m not quite mean enough to make you do this after you cleaned two rooms for me already, though.” Draping the shirt onto what must have been her ‘clean’ pile, she added, “I don’t mind if you wanna keep me company out here, though.”

Even though the surface of the balcony was hard, sturdy wood, Marko somehow didn’t mind sitting down crosslegged next to the basin. He did so without any other prompt than her suggestion of him keeping her company. On that note, he felt inclined to ask, “Are ya alone here, most of the time?”

She nodded lightly, “Those three tend to do their own thing during the day.” She took the next piece of clothing in hand and dunked it. “It’s not so bad. I own farmland south of the city, and I check on that every week, so I’m not stuck here all the time. Even then, Šćepan always comes with me there.”

Marko did faintly recall something about Tatjana’s parents being farm operatives. It did seem strange for her to be living inside the stronghold if the land was hers, and not out there. It was clear she had her reasons. “S’that where you were, yesterday?”

“The farm? Yeah. I have a few guys who live on-site there and work it for me, but I still gotta make sure they’re not getting themselves into trouble, even if it means having to leave the city often.” Brushing that matter off, she returned to her original response, “But when we’re not there, Šćepan lies around this place most of the time, so I’m never _really_ on my own.” She grimaced a bit as she scrubbed again, muttering, her tone steadily gaining bitterness, “I kinda wish he wouldn’t linger around like he does, though… He’s so lazy. Sometimes it feels like he only exists to eat, sleep and complain.”

Considering that, Marko couldn’t help but ask, “If that’s the case, why’d ya marry him?”

Once she’d digested the question, Tatjana gave him a long, somewhat blank stare. Then, blinking, she smiled. “Because! I love him. It’s as simple as that.” Though Marko figured she had paused because the question had come out of left field, what she said next, as she continued with the laundry, revealed the truth. The brightness of her smile withered from her countenance. “A lot of people ask that, y’know. Though, they ask it, ‘cause they make assumptions and wanna prove themselves right. You get what I mean?”

Mulling it over, Marko responded in a slow mutter, “You’re an ex-warden, and he’s an Alpha, so they make assumptions ‘cause of that?”

She sighed, “Well, sorta. I’m just kinda surprised you asked that, just ‘cause I was complaining about him. Usually, it’s ‘why did you marry him’, in a, ‘why would you want an Alpha’, or ‘why would an Alpha want you’ kinda way, y’know?”

Those were valid enquiries, Marko supposed, but he guessed being asked the same thing over and over would’ve been pretty tiring for Tatjana, or for both of them, even. He didn’t find their marriage _too_ strange, but he did ponder for a moment if there was more to it than just love. But then, he didn’t want to pry, either; that, and he had an inkling Tatjana might not have given him a straight answer. Humans _did_ have a different understanding of what life partners were, to Alphas and Omegas - not wholly different, but different enough.

“I uh…” He shuffled in his seat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude about it or anythin’.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The water splashed about her wrists as she kneaded the material in her grasp. “Let’s just say, he and I, we’ve been through some tough times. All four of us have, actually.” Her eyes, focused on the basin now, flickered with something akin to sorrow. “When I met Šćepan, and Vuk, and Ilir, they were like…” She gave Marko a knowing look, “Don’t tell them I said this about them, but they were like little lost sheep.” Rubbing her chin with a damp hand, she continued, “Although, they were never _little_. At least, not whilst I’ve known them.”

The metaphor was somewhat lost on Marko. He’d yet to see any of the three brothers as anything remotely ‘sheepish’. “Whaddya mean by that?”

“Well, they…” Lips still parted, she paused for a few moments. “Let’s just say, when they came out of the program, they were kinda lost, and needed someone to look after them.”

Whilst that made sense enough, given what she’d said, it didn’t quite fill Marko in enough. “Lost _how_? Didn’t they band together with the other Alphas and build this place?”

A slow exhale left Tatjana’s mouth, and she gave her head a gentle shake, the thin, loose strands of her hair that had freed themselves from her ponytail drifting with the motion. “Sorry, it’s not really my place to tell you about that.”

Though again he didn’t want to pressure her into an answer, Marko was somewhat suspicious at that. He’d asked something that could have been a straight up ‘yes’ or ‘no’ - had her shaking of the head been a ‘no, they didn’t band together with the Alphas’? “If that’s the case though, then I’ve been gettin’ shit from Vuk for havin’ lived a life outside the stronghold.” He was aware that he couldn’t jump to any conclusions, but the thought of that was irritating.

Tatjana seemed to have to swallow before she could give him a reply. “It’s because of that, that he’ll have…” She trailed off, and in the next moment, seemed genuinely apologetic. “He won’t have meant it like that. I’m sorry, I really can’t tell you more, but I think… I think when he found you, out in The North - alone, thinking you didn’t need the other Alphas and Omegas - then, he’ll have seen in you the mistakes he made at that time.”

Something in Marko’s mind clicked, then. He had before assumed that Vuk’s frustrations with him had been deep-rooted, and so what she was saying, albeit still vague, made sense. “Eh, even so, that’s not my problem. It’s not like I could’ve known that bothered him before I met him or anythin’.”

“No, I guess not.” She sucked in another breath, before asking, “Do you hate him for it?”

It was Marko’s turn, now, to be put on the spot by a question from her, it seemed. He answered as best he could, “No. I don’t hate him for anythin’ he said or did.” Eyeing her downtrodden expression, he started to wish he’d never brought them onto that topic of discussion. In a plain tone, he added, “He saved me. I’m grateful.”

She dropped the laundry with a low sigh. “Samuil?”

“It’s Marko.” He corrected her, before asking, “What is it?”

“ _Marko_ …” She gave a brief nod as she corrected herself. “Marko, can you do something for me?”

Though questioning, he responded, “Sure.”

“Next time you see Vuk, I want you to tell him that.”

Cocking a brow, Marko asked, “Tell him what? That I’m grateful he saved me?”

“Mhm.” Another nod, with more strength this time. “Exactly that.” He had to wonder what Vuk would do or say, if he sprung that on him without prompt. As an indication he spent too long wondering that, when he was ready to ask Tatjana _why_ she wanted him to say that, she had started to collect the clean clothing pile together. “It’s getting too cold out here! I’ll have to finish the rest later. Do you want something for lunch?”

 

* * *

 

Vuk didn’t turn up back at the house until late that evening. Marko found him slouched over the table, picking his way through a plate of leftovers from dinner.

It was strange, he found; he’d had to rehearse what he was going to say over in his mind. The kind of reaction he thought he was going to get from the Alpha made him not want to say it at all - but he wasn’t planning to go back on his word.

He stood between the hallway and the kitchen, and their eyes met. The stare that Vuk gave him, silent, was questioning - Marko, too, would have been wondering why someone was standing there like a spare part.

“Thank you.” Marko said, after he’d taken in a deep breath. He then cursed himself, because that wasn’t the phrase ‘I’m grateful’, like he’d told himself to say.

The look on Vuk’s face didn’t disappear. In fact, at that, he raised an eyebrow. “Hnh?”

Balling his hands into fists and releasing them again, as a method of alleviating the discomfort he’d found himself in, Marko spoke again, “Thank you for bringin’ me here. And lettin’ me stay here.” It was hard at that point to tell himself that he wasn’t telling the truth. _Very_ hard. “If you hadn’t, then I’d either be rottin’ in a cell, or at the expense of those traffickers, or be dyin’ out in the cold.”

Vuk straightened up in his seat, and swallowed his mouthful of food. Even then, though he looked like he wanted to say something, he didn’t. His eyes surveyed Marko’s face, and his brow knit, as if he were having trouble comprehending what was being said. Marko supposed he couldn’t blame him.

“Yeah, so… G’night.” At that, Marko turned, and made his way through the hallway to the steps. He didn’t look back, nor did he wait for a reply - even if one was going to come at all.

 

* * *

 

“Sa-- _Marko_. Good to see you again.”

Returning to the clinic after two and a half days of household chores seemed like a blessing. Granted, the chores weren’t difficult, but it had felt as if he’d done nothing _but_ housework in that time. Tolys greeted Marko in the clinic’s entrance foyer; he looked just as worn down as he had done a few days back, yet he still managed to put on a welcoming smile.

“Good to see you too.” Marko gave him an expectant look. He hadn’t been given a time scale other than ‘a few days’ for returning to the clinic - or, rather, starting there for real. When he’d been woken that morning, it was by Ilir: the young Alpha had rapped on his bedroom door and called through to him about a ‘messenger guy’ wanting to speak to him. Said messenger had told (a still half-asleep) Marko that he could come by the clinic that morning to start. It wasn’t shift work that Marko was expecting to undertake, though - not for that day, at least. Since he didn’t want to beat around the bush, he asked Tolys, “So, what’s this job you guys’ve got for me?”

The brunet made a face, somewhere between a grimace and an apologetic smile. “Right… The supervisor asked me if I’d take you there, so, we can go right now if you’d like. It’s a very simple job, honestly!” His voice sounded as if it were about to crack at the end.

Though Marko walked with him, he wasn’t convinced. Perhaps Tolys had already forgotten that the two of them had grown up in the same pack together - that, or Tolys had yet to realise he wasn’t very difficult a person to read. “Well, uh… S’good to know you’re not throwin’ me in at the deep end, I guess.”

Tolys winced. “O-Of course not! We wouldn’t do that.” He added a nervous laugh at the end of his words.

“So… What’s the job?”

“It’s just a simple… Caretaking job.”

 _Caretaking._ Marko let out a groan. “You’re not gonna make me _clean_ anythin’, are ya?” He’d seen enough cloths and mops over the past few days to last him a lifetime.

“Oh, no. No, you’ll be taking care of someone in particular.” Tolys forced a smile onto his face. “Y-You’re wondering what the catch is, aren’t you?”

With some considerable sarcasm, Marko replied, “Nah, I just thought ya had coffee jitters.”

“This, um, patient…” Tolys lowered his voice a bit. “He’s an Alpha, so that makes the other medics a little cautious to begin with. But this guy, he’s one of the most influential Alphas among us. He deals with a lot of our trade and economics. Without him, our stronghold wouldn’t really have any money, and we’d struggle to get food and certain goods, too.”

“S’that a big deal when he’s in here?” Marko frowned a bit, not quite understanding what Tolys was getting at, “You guys scared of him, or somethin’?”

The brunet strained to answer, “W-Well. He can be quite intimidating. I-It’s not that we’re _scared_ , but, we’d rather--”

Marko side-eyed him, unimpressed, “You’d rather the new guy takes one for the team this time ‘round.”

“In our defense, this was the supervisor’s idea!” Tolys raised his hands, as if in surrender.

Not caring whose idea it was, Marko let out a short sigh of exasperation. “Look, nevermind any of that. Just tell me straight up what the deal with this guy is, and I need to do.”

Tolys coughed a bit, and gave a hushed response, though he could still be heard well enough in the quietness of otherwise empty corridor, “This patient lost his eyesight, in an incident in The South a few years ago. Luckily, he’s always had access to a visual prosthesis, but this device needs fine-tuning every so often.”

Loss of eyesight wasn’t a typical injury sustained by Alphas on the field. Though they had been provided with head protection, if for any reason an Alpha had been shot or stabbed in the eye, then blindness wasn’t going to be their biggest problem. Something nagged at Marko’s mind in that regard, as he listened to what Tolys was saying, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. “He got the prosthesis durin’ the program, then? Aren’t they considered weapons tech?”

“That’s right. We have a specialist on site, but it’ll take him a few hours to fix the prosthesis up. Really, all you’ll need to do is, well, keep ‘an eye’ on the patient until then.” He chortled a little, as if the eye joke was much more clever than it actually was.

Marko found that, for the rest of the short walk to their destination, he couldn’t help but overthink the patient’s condition. It echoed in his head; he could have sworn that he’d come across something like that within his final months of the program. Those months, however, were a blur to him - a blur in which he’d felt nothing but empty and numb. He could remember Tatjana’s face and voice, though over ten years had passed since their meeting again - but when he tried to recall the time leading up to the dissolution of the program, nothing was clear whatsoever. Yet, ‘loss of eyesight’ somehow rang a bell. _Somehow_.

Perhaps he’d tried to think too hard. By the time he and Tolys had come to a standstill in front of a closed door, he felt dizzy.

“Marko?” It took him a moment to realise Tolys was staring at him with some concern. “Are you feeling alright? You’ve gone a little pale.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” He shook himself back down to earth. “I’m fine. Just, uh, kinda got myself lost in my thoughts there.”

Though Tolys didn’t speak as he turned the door handle with care, he didn’t look as if he believed those words.

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

With his thoughts reflecting on nothing about the patient but his condition and supposed status, Marko hadn’t known what to expect about him otherwise. Upon their entry into the room, a small voice that had been muttering silenced itself. From his position perched on the edge of the bed inside, a tanned boy with dark hair and eyes lifted his attention from a hardback notebook in his grasp and towards Tolys. Though the boy was the first to be noticed, it quickly became clear he wasn’t the Alpha they were attending to. Behind him was a bulky man, reclined along the length of the bed, legs crossed and hands folded beneath the back of his head. Like the boy, his hair was short and black and his skin a mellow olive. Thick stubble framed the curvature of his broad jaw. The most notable aspect of his appearance, however, was the simple bandage wrapped across his eyes and the top half of his face.

He didn’t move a muscle when they had stepped into the room, unlike his young companion, yet he must have heard them come in, as he spoke up promptly, voice like shattering glass, sharp and clear, “About damned time, Laurinaitis!” This made Tolys’s back straighten, and the brave smile he’d attempted slipped into somewhat of a grimace. Contrary to his relaxed pose, the Alpha added, “You guys must think I’ve got nothing better to do than lie ‘round here all day.” Though his words were curt, they held no spite, but impatience.

Tolys snapped out of his seized-up state, “G-Good morning to you too, Mr. Adnan. I um. I hope the removal process wasn’t too uncomfortable.” Before anything else could be said, he gave Marko what was either a hefty pat on the shoulder blade, or an attempt to shove him forwards. “This is... Marko. He’ll be accompanying you today.”

Marko didn’t budge from the spot, nor did he say anything. He looked towards the young boy, whose attention was firmly upon him. His eyes were widened in questioning, the kind of look that was typical of a child to give to someone unfamiliar. It hadn’t even been a week, but Marko was already starting to forget he was a stranger to many in the stronghold.

A sniffing sound took Marko’s attention back towards the Alpha, then. He was scenting the air - and he didn’t seem pleased about it. “The hell? I can’t pick up another Omega, but the stench of that Mišić brat’s around.” With a grunt, he asked Tolys, “Is this some kinda joke?”

“N-No!” Tolys stiffened. “Not at all! A-And this was the supervisor’s idea, he--”

“There’s another man here.” The boy spoke all of a sudden, calm and monotonous. “It’s not Mr. Mišić, or his brothers.”

“ _Hrnh_.” The Alpha’s head made a slight turn in Marko’s direction. “Who are you?”

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Marko lifted the sleeve of his shirt to his nose. He picked up a faint scent of starch and cotton - but nothing else in particular. Without the presence of his own scent to overpower it, wearing Vuk’s clothes and sleeping in his bed meant that he was going to be carrying around _his_ scent. But, until then, for whatever reason - through politeness or not recognising it as Vuk’s, or the like - no one had mentioned it. Regardless, it was a little uncomfortable to think about. If the scent could be recognised by someone, there were a few conclusions they could draw about Marko from it.

He lowered his hand again. Attempting a nonchalant approach, he replied, “Tolys just told ya, didn’t he? I’m Marko.”

The Alpha made an exasperated grunting noise, and pinched the bridge of his nose, just below where the wrapping of bandages ended. “Not what I meant.” He began to sit up, cracking his neck in the process. Before Tolys could speak up again, he added, “ _Geeze_. Nevermind, the brat’s scent’s enough to follow.”

When Marko had been given a vague briefing on what he was supposed to be doing, he hadn’t thought - until that moment - he’d be doing anything more than sitting in the room and making sure the Alpha didn’t roll off his bed or something just as dangerous or stupid. But then, Mr. Adnan reached for the green hooded sweatshirt draped over the back of the bed, and though he did have to feel around for it, he was quick to grab it and throw it on. He wanted to be up and about, then? Marko glanced in Tolys’s direction to see if he had any objections. None came; the brunet was quiet, his expression otherwise vacant.

As the Alpha was preparing to stand, Marko asked the other Omega with a cocked brow, “Tell me again what I’m s’posed to be doin’.”

Tolys gave him a firm response, which was more than he was expecting, “Just keep watch over Mr. Adnan for the duration of the morning.”

Marko lowered his voice, but there wasn’t really any way he could pull Tolys away for a private word at that point, “Yeah, but where? I figured we were stayin’ put.”

The Alpha snorted at the ‘staying put’ comment, and interjected, “The docks. I have business there. Can’t let it wait. Wish I could stay here and lie around for hours on end, though.” The last part was said with some sarcasm. He patted his knees before he leant forwards and rose from the bed. For someone wholly blind, he had an impressive sense of balance. Alphas often did have heightened senses, but Marko had never thought much about how the absence of sight would hinder the others, if at all. As the man faced Marko - hovering above him, aware of his position in the room - a smirk curled at his lips. He added, with forced, intentional seriousness, in what may have been an attempt to intimidate him, “So, it’s on your head if I fall in the water and drown.”

Marko, not so easily belittled, wished the Alpha could have seen the withering look he gave him in return.

Since arriving at the stronghold, other than in his fleeting thoughts about returning to his village, Marko hadn’t considered leaving the safe confines of the walls. However, he had been made aware that the gate was manned in shifts every day and night; he’d heard Tatjana speaking with Šćepan about a handful of Alphas and Omegas working jobs in the outer areas of the city (unless an Omega had made themselves a part of the upper-class society of the centre, they weren’t employed there). The majority of both kind were involved in construction or technology, and the sole reason they applied their skills to areas outside of the stronghold was for financial reasons. Šćepan had made an off-hand comment about not needing money, and that stealing necessities from the centre was a better idea, which had earned him a slap over the back of head from Tatjana.

Were it not for a stretch of shabby, empty homes - the same kind that the stronghold took apart for building materials - between the southern wall and the docks, the two would have been next door to each other. Again, Marko had only been made aware of this through conversations held at his temporary home. He left the clinic with Mr. Adnan and his young companion. Whilst he couldn’t say he was thrilled with the task given to him, he had decided that it wasn’t a good idea to half-ass it, or else act like it was a chore. But, the task wasn’t the only reason he kept his attention on the Alpha. There was a familiarity about him, and he couldn’t put his finger on why. He didn’t remember the name ‘Adnan’, but then, he began to think about the man’s condition, and the fact that earlier, it had brought back the blurry few months before the end of the program. Had Marko treated his blindness during that time, and because of all that had happened, it had simply disappeared from his memory? It didn’t quite seem like it was that simple.

“You mind answering me, now?” Mr. Adnan’s voice cut through his trail of thoughts, low and raspy. His lack of sight had yet to prove much of a challenge; the boy was guiding him, one hand in his, the other with a firm hold on his notebook.

Marko didn’t realise the question was aimed at him until he noticed said boy hadn’t replied. “Wh-What?”

Straightforward about it, the Alpha repeated his words from the clinic room, “Who are you?”

Whilst tempted to put his name forwards as ‘Samuil’, Marko decided that, whether Mr. Adnan knew of him based upon that name or not, it would have brought up unnecessary questions. What he guessed the Alpha wanted to know with his question was why he had Vuk’s scent. “I’m a… Friend of Vuk’s, I guess.” Was friend the right word to use? He and Vuk had never once acted like they were friends. The man had given him a safe place to be, and a roof over his head, but other than that he couldn’t say. It was hard to know what was on Vuk’s mind most of the time anyway, but he’d never acted like Marko was much more than an annoying dead weight he had to deal with.

“A friend, huh?” Mr. Adnan’s voice and smile were laced with amusement. “Didn’t know the brat still had any. What’d you say your name was, again?”

Once more, he considered ‘Samuil’ as his reply. “Marko.”

The Alpha grew more pensive, then. “Huh. Common name ‘round here.”

“It’s Marko with a ‘ _k_ ’.” The common version of the name - one that was considered old-fashioned but was still in regular use among humans in the region - used a ‘c’.

Mr. Adnan waved a dismissive hand. “Sounds exactly the same to me.” Before Marko could protest that, he added, “Point is, I didn’t know there was anyone in Mišić’s circle by that name.”

Marko stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I’m new ‘round here. Sorta.”

There was an air of suspicion, or perhaps curiosity, in the Alpha’s voice as he asked, “What, to the city?”

Whilst that statement could have been considered correct, Marko answered differently, “To the stronghold.”

“Not often we get new faces in here. Not unless they’re rebels who need somewhere to hide.”

Deciding he didn’t want to end up repeating the same story of how Vuk had brought him there from The North, and - more to the point - why, Marko shrugged a bit and gave a plain response, “I guess.”

An uneventful walk across the stronghold grounds brought them to the back wall. It hadn’t occurred to Marko until then that they were going the wrong way to leave the walls, but soon it became clear that wasn’t the case. Shrouded by a building not far from the main hall was a long and wide cast iron door, not to the scale of the front gate, but still some ways bigger than an average Alpha was tall. Seated with his back against the wall next to it was a slumbering man, wrapped in a thick coat and burrowed under blankets. After they had stopped in this area, Mr. Adnan’s young companion parted from him and approached the man beside the door, and shook his shoulder to rouse him.

“Mister. We want to use the doorway.”

As the man began to stir with a perturbed groan, Mr. Adnan addressed the boy, “Cemil, mind your manners.”

“Mister, we want to use the doorway. _Please_.”

Squinting upwards, first at the boy and then towards Mr. Adnan, the man mumbled, after a low yawn had left his mouth, “Oh, s’you, Mr. Adnan.” He stirred and rose from beneath his covers, adding groggily, “Won’t be a minute.”

Beyond the hefty door was the sound and scent of the coastline. Cemil seemed to know where he was going, and didn’t waste much time pulling Mr. Adnan through the exit. As soon as Marko had also crossed the threshold, the door was banged shut again. He pursued the two down a broad, firm-grounded walkway, strewn with grit that crunched beneath their feet and the slight slope of the path implied it was in frequent use. Given the stronghold’s position, there was a constant saltiness that lingered in the air, but back there it was much stronger. Water lapped loudly at the tall levee bordering the path; Marko had to stretch his neck to see above the barrier, but he managed to catch a glimpse of the cold, grey sea. The harshness of the winter months made it churn against Utopia’s defences, but the fact that it was both a shallow and somewhat enclosed sea meant that it wasn’t prone to being rough.

The walkway led to the northern side of their apparent destination. Designed to support industrial use, the docks were both intricate and spacious, a collection of cast-iron structures and stone walkways that straddled the very edge of the river’s mouth. But for all its capacity, much of the place was unused. At an external jetty, the closest to the stronghold’s walls, was a single anchored vessel. Its unimpressive size and smooth bow implied it didn’t belong to the fleet of hulking, blocky ships owned by HQ. As they drew closer, the name printed on the hull became visible: _The Sultan_.

Three hooded men shifted up and down the clunking gangway with crates and luggage in tow. They appeared to be doing so sluggishly, but when they caught sight of Mr. Adnan approaching, they started to pick up their pace, lest they appear unproductive.

“Captain!” The man still on deck called down eagerly. “The HQ rep’s on board. Showed him to your office and served him tea like you asked.”

Marko eyed the Alpha with caution as Cemil lead him to the gangplank - he _had_ said if he ended up in the water, it’d be on his head. Nevertheless, he was more concerned in that moment about there being a HQ representative on board. His footsteps came to a halt as a sense of dread loomed over him. Mr. Adnan wouldn’t have known that Marko was supposed to be avoiding HQ personnel. Until then, though, it hadn’t crossed his mind that leaving the safety of walls would have been quite such a risk; they towered over that edge of the docks, their southwestern corner not even ten metres away from the ship. Which posed the question - why was Mr. Adnan, an Alpha from the stronghold, meeting with someone from HQ?

Guided by Cemil, Mr. Adnan climbed the gangplank with ease. Absorbed in his own thoughts, Marko hadn’t even noticed the Alpha was up on deck by the time he’d snapped back to reality. He kept his own feet on the jetty, deciding not to follow.

“Good. And no complaints from him this time?” Mr. Adnan asked.

As the man he addressed heaved a wooden crate up onto his shoulder, he replied in an off-hand manner, “Well, he did say the _lokum_ was kinda dry.”

Even from a few yards’ distance, and with half his face covered, Mr. Adnan’s offence at the comment was very much visible. He grumbled and shook his head. “Hey.” He called down to Marko sharply, aware that he hadn’t stepped up onto the deck. “You coming up?”

Back straightening, Marko said the first thing that came to mind, “I don’t like boats.” His mouth felt dry as he spoke. There was some truth to his words; he was prone to seasickness, but that only came about on moving vessels, and _The Sultan_ was anchored on a fair tide.

“ _Huh_?” Mr. Adnan appeared sceptical, but shrugged it off a moment later, much to Marko’s relief. “Suit yourself. Just don’t go wandering too far off, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He answered half-heartedly.

“Wait in here, if you want. It’s outta the cold at least.” One of the other men said whilst lugging a crate past him. ‘In here’ referred to the structure behind. Its darkened interior did seem like the safest place to hang around until the HQ representative was gone from the scene. And even if that person did end up snooping around in there for whatever reason, the lack of lighting would be enough to shroud his likeness from him. Marko stepped after him.

True to his word, the building of solid yet rusting iron was out of the cold - though, that didn’t make it warm by any means, either. It had a large door to accommodate for whatever cargo needed to be stowed inside, but this was wide open. A lone battery lamp, which flickered every couple of seconds, hung unceremoniously from the ceiling, casting deep shadows on the many huddled stacks of boxes. Whilst not even the length or height of the ship, there was enough space in there for a couple of hundred crates, if Marko were to take a rough estimation. If he hadn’t known that the contents were purely for the stronghold’s use, he wouldn’t have thought it to be an awful lot of cargo at all.

The man took care as he placed his crate down. He motioned through an aisle where the stacks parted. “There’s some chairs at the far end there. Doubt the captain’ll be long, though.”

“Thanks.” Came Marko’s muted response, he twisted his head to look at where the man had motioned to, then towards his face, shrouded beneath the hood. The drab grey light pouring through the open doorway was enough to make out the features of his face. His skin was blotchy, to a degree that it was noticeable even in the relative shade of the place. As soon as it became obvious to the man that Marko was staring because of this, he moved out of his view. _Awkward._ “Uh.” He coughed, and spoke up before the man could head back out. “That’s a pretty nasty lookin’ rash. You should get it looked at.”

He received a look of disdain, the man’s lips spreading into a thin line. There was something akin to confusion and suspicion in his eyes. “I have.”

With the sudden hostility from him, Marko was reluctant to press the matter. “Uh-huh? What’d your consultant give ya for it?”

Snorting, the man replied, “Not a damned thing.” He shrugged, as he started to make his way back outside, adding with some cynicism, “I’m lucky, anyway. I won’t die from it.”

Instead of heading through to the designated seating area, Marko decided to stay close by the doorway, though he tried to keep both hidden from view and out of the way of the incoming cargo. Whilst he was a little curious about what was in the boxes, his thoughts were more concerned with the HQ presence nearby. It was just one representative, wasn’t it? There were no signs of any automata about - and, for sure, in a place like that they’d be heard before they’d be seen. And so, even if he was identified, there was little chance of him being _caught_ , and making a break for the stronghold would be easy. His heart pounded regardless.

He stood still for some time, switching his weight between his feet every so often. Mr. Adnan’s men didn’t give him much more acknowledgement, preoccupied with their task. Eventually, Marko squatted down in the shadow of the stack of crates nearest the door, from the side of which he was still able to view the grey-tinged jetty if he craned his head. It wasn’t long after he did this that footsteps clunked down the gangway. Voices accompanied the noise, but they weren’t clear enough to make out.

“...Well then, if everything’s to your liking.” Mr. Adnan said, once the clunking had stopped. He spoke with some wryness, as if he were impatient and dismissive of the person he was talking to. “See you next time.”

The HQ representative crossed Marko’s view of the jetty. He recognised the muted navy blue uniform as one that belonged to the highest-ranked officials, and knowing that, the sense of dread he thought he’d gotten rid of before returned. He was slender, with caramel-coloured hair, and when Mr. Adnan wandered into sight as well, the representative appeared much shorter than he was. After a few steps, the official stilled. He turned his head a little towards the iron structure, though Marko was not able to see his face. Marko tensed, his palms sweating.

Mr. Adnan grunted. “Something wrong?”

Coolly, though his body was as rigid as Marko’s, the official replied, “Hm… Nothing. I thought I smelt a rat, that’s all.”

“Can’t be.” The Alpha snorted, though he didn’t sound at all amused. “Haven’t seen one on the ship or in the unit in years. And as you’re aware, we check.”

Marko didn’t realise he was holding his breath until the official had started to walk again with an off-hand, “I suppose.”

 

* * *

 

Until he’d accompanied Mr. Adnan and Cemil back to the clinic, Marko didn’t raise any questions. He barely spoke at all.

“Uh. Hey.” He raised his voice once they’d entered through the front doors. “D’ya mind if I ask ya somethin’ about that HQ official that was there?”

Though Marko had tried not to make it obvious that the person’s presence had been playing on his mind the whole way back, he had an inkling that Mr. Adnan was able to tell regardless, from the way he paused in thought, yet didn’t act like the question had come out of the blue. When they came to a stop in the lobby, he brought a hand to his chin, rubbing at the bristles of stubble there. He had an air about him that suggested if his eyes were visible, they’d have a knowing look in them. “That depends on what you want to know.”

“Maybe why they sent out the highest rank to check your ship over. Don’t remember that happenin’ before.” The navy uniform raised that question, and Marko couldn’t quite get his head around it. Back in his time in the city, the job was typically carried out by the acting police of the time - the Women’s Corps - but it seemed out of place not to assign it to their newer equivalents.

Mr. Adnan gave him a straightforward answer, “We trade with the Eastern States at the discretion of HQ. We can bring in whatever we like, so long as it’s not what they classify as ‘international propaganda’.” That much Marko knew already. “Normally, I only bring in stuff for the stronghold to use. So not only does that guy come to check, he comes to...” A smirk pulled at the edges of his mouth, and he let out a low, yet somehow loud snicker. “ _Intimidate_. In their opinion, I could be bringing any kinda dangerous shit back for the stronghold to use. Not that it’s easy to get ahold of over in the Eastern States, ‘specially if you’re heading there _from_ Utopia. Does that answer your question?”

Whilst it did, Marko had to comment, “If they wanted to intimidate, why didn’t they send an automata or two along with the guy?”

“Who knows?” The Alpha feigned amusement. “I wouldn’t ask. Might give ‘em ideas.”

Marko returned home shortly before midday, dismissed on the supervisor’s word after he’d completed the ‘relevant paperwork’ for the morning’s trip to the docks. He didn’t see Mr. Adnan or Cemil again that day.

The front door was unlocked. As he entered the kitchen, he found no sign of Tatjana or Šćepan. In their place was Ilir, hunched over a the table, who lifted his gaze quickly towards him when he stepped inside, and held it still for some moments to follow, like a deer caught in headlights. In the young Alpha’s hand was a knife and below it was a piece of whetstone, with which he had been making a scraping noise before coming to a halt with this too.

“Hey.” Marko offered as he closed the door.

Ilir straightened his back and, without returning the greeting, said in an upfront manner, “You went outside the walls, didn’t you?”

Remembering that Ilir had been reprimanded before by his brother for doing just that, Marko paused, unsure of how to answer. Across the dim room, he met the intense amber stare with a somewhat blank one. As he opened his mouth to give a simple response, instead a different thought that crossed his mind came out, “Aren’t _you_ s’posed to be in school?”

The young man creased his nose and bent his neck back a little. “What’s it to you?”

Marko shrugged. “D’ya have a problem with me goin’ outside the walls?”

Though the frown didn’t disappear from his face, Ilir broke eye contact with Marko, and lowered his head, proceeding to sharpen the knife against the whetstone again in short strokes. He mumbled, and Marko was only just able to understand his words, “Are you going out there again? With Mr. Adnan?”

Marko started to remove his coat. He didn’t think Mr. Adnan would be back at the clinic any time soon, unless there was a malfunction with his eye implant or he had another ailment. “Doubt it. I was only there as part of protocol.” Were he honest, he hadn’t seen the point - Cemil had guided him just fine where it had mattered, and otherwise the Alpha’s own senses had seemed very sharp.

Ilir slumped his shoulders and made a grunting noise. He didn’t reply otherwise, though Marko waited to see if he would, not understanding the relevance of his enquiry.

Placing the coat over the back of one of the free chairs, he stated with a raised eyebrow, “Ya didn’t tell me if it was a problem or not.”

“I don’t know.” The Alpha huffed. “You were with Mr. Adnan, and you don’t smell like an Omega anyway, so it wouldnt’ve been dangerous, but...”

Marko couldn’t help but snicker a bit at that. Even if his senses were honed, he didn’t think a blind Alpha was the absolute best kind of protection one could have - and given the HQ official’s presence, the trip _had_ been on the dangerous side for him. “But what?”

Ilir seemed uncomfortable as he explained, “You know it, right? The industrial parts of the city, across the docks from here? That’s where the dirt poor live. The lowest of the low.”

Marko did recall this - it had been the same case when the program was still going. “Yeah, I remember it.” The crime rate in that part of the city was extraordinary, and he recalled that HQ would send officers from the Women’s Corps there at least twice a day, not including regular patrols. It was always a risky place for anyone to be in.

“There’s an underground ring that’s based over there, but operates all over the city.” Ilir continued with a pained, downcast look, “A ring that kidnaps and trafficks unbonded Omegas.”

As the cabin was brought back to mind, Marko’s body stiffened. No doubt they had been from the same ring Ilir spoke of. He swallowed. “Yeah. I know who ya mean.” He wasn’t sure if the young Alpha knew about his and Vuk’s run-in with them in The North, and so kept quiet about it. “You’re sayin’ it’s risky to leave the stronghold ‘cause of ‘em?”

“Only if you’re an Omega, and you go without an Alpha, or at least a human with you.” Ilir scowled then, and started sharpening his knife with greater force. “I might as well be an Omega, though, the way my brother acts when _I_ leave.” He grumbled. “Mr. Adnan said I could work for him, but Vuk’d blow a damned fuse if he knew about that.”

Marko could understand Vuk’s concern for his youngest brother. Alpha or not, he had yet to turn seventeen, and in the context of Alphas and Omegas, he would have to wait another year after that before being considered an adult. Still, Marko did feel sorry for him. When he was Ilir’s age himself, the program had given him direction. Ilir didn’t have that. He had a brother that weighed him down instead.

He mulled it over for a little while. It wasn’t exactly difficult to leave, not as much as it was to enter. “ _Do_ ya work for Mr. Adnan?”

“When I can.”

“At the docks?”

The Alpha gave a small nod.

An idea came to mind. It wasn’t an epiphany of great proportions, but it was good enough - for the time being. Though he’d more or less just put it down, Marko lifted his coat up and tugged it back on. “Come to think of it, there’s somethin’ I need takin’ there. You can do it for me, if ya want.”

The somewhat pedantic scratching noise of the blade on the whetstone stopped at once. The look Ilir gave him was one of both curiosity and suspicion. Marko beckoned him to come along with him, over to the clinic - but only when he was halfway out of the door and back into the cold did he hear the chair scraping on the kitchen floor behind him.

He left Ilir in the lobby of the clinic whilst he set off looking for the medicinal storage room. Though he had a rough idea of where it was, he hadn’t quite gotten the floor plan of the clinic down pat, and so it took longer than he’d expected; the corridors were devoid of any lingering members of staff, and so there was no one he could ask to point him in the right direction.

Once he’d scoured the shelves for what he needed, he returned to Ilir and presented him with an oblong-shaped box. “Y’know the guy with the bad skin? Give this to him.” When he’d taken the box, Marko gave him a pat on the arm, and attempted a grin, even though he knew he wouldn’t get much of an affectionate response. “Just be back in time for dinner, yeah?”

 

* * *

 

Holding onto Ilir’s copy of the house key, Marko headed back once again. Though it was only noon, the sky had started to swell with a deep, dark grey that signalled snowfall; he had to flick on the lights at home, lest he trip over not being able to see. Tatjana and Šćepan still weren’t about, and Marko chided himself mentally for not having asked Ilir of their whereabouts before letting him go. Strange as it was at that point, it did feel pleasant to have a whole house to himself, as he had done back in The North. He pondered taking a bath and putting his head down for a few hours, but the first thing he did after hanging his coat up was get himself a glass of water.

As he took the first sip, the front door was tossed open with a crack. Startled by the noise, he coughed on the drink, almost dropping the glass. As a draught of cold entered the room, he turned his head, and seeing the familiar face at the door, squinted with a splutter of, “The fuck’re ya doin’?”

“The fuck am _I_ doing!?” Vuk snarled through clenched teeth as he slammed the door shut. He crossed the kitchen in three easy strides, and stood close to Marko, with his back straightened, as if to appear tall enough to loom over him. “The fuck d’you think _you’re_ doing, sending my brother outta the stronghold?”

Unimpressed by the Alpha’s attempt at talking down to him, Marko rolled his eyes. “He wanted to go to the docks, so I gave him a reason to. Big deal. I was there earlier, anyway.”

Vuk furrowed his brow in confusion, shuffling back a bit as he processed the words - that Marko, a moment later, decided he probably should have put across better. “ _What_?”

_Ah, shit._ Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, trying to come across as unwavered by the conversation, Marko replied, “For work. They wanted me to escort someone there and back. Was out there a couple of hours maybe.”

“Tch.” Vuk moved away a little more. “You can’t be scented out, though. You’re not a stupid kid that’d wander off and get himself into trouble, either.”

“I think Ilir knows the area better than I do.”

Just after Marko had spoken, Vuk seemed to realise he was letting himself back off too soon. He glowered, shoving with some force on Marko’s shoulder, pushing his back into the counter. “Quit pulling excuses outta your ass for him!” He hissed. “He’s not your responsibility. Don’t assume that just ‘cause I’m letting you stay here, you’ve got any authority over him.”

The push surprised him, and his collision with the counter hurt, but once again Marko forced himself to remain composed. Eyes affixed on Vuk’s, he muttered a curt, not at all genuine apology, “You’re right. I don’t. Sorry.”

Vuk began to turn away, and all he received as a verbal response was a single grunting noise. He stood still with his shoulders hunched briefly, before glancing back in Marko’s direction. “I’m going back to work.” He grumbled.

As the Alpha lumbered back towards the door, Marko mused aloud, “Y’ever think you’ll change your mind, though?” He leant against the counter that had been digging into his back, casually folding his arms.

“On what?” Vuk stopped inches from the door to ask.

“Lettin’ Ilir go outta the stronghold.” Thinking back to the docks, Marko continued, “He says that Adnan guy offered him work, so it’s not like he’d be goin’ out to get himself into trouble, like ya said he would.”

Marko’s words didn’t seem to come as much of a revelation to Vuk. He replied, dismissive, “Yeah, well. I don’t trust Adnan, or any of his cronies for that matter.”

Were he to be honest, Marko didn’t think Vuk was the kind of guy to trust many people. “He seems fine to me.” He thought back to earlier that morning. Judging by the fact Mr. Adnan had exclusively referred to Vuk as ‘the Mišić brat’, clearly he didn’t think too highly of him either. “Besides, Ilir probably went outta the stronghold all the time when you were in The North, didn’t he? Nothin’ bad’s happened to him so far.”

Narrowing his eyes as he turned his head to look back at him, Vuk huffed. “Only ‘cause Šćepan doesn’t care enough about anything. He probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid if Ilir came home missing a limb. At least Tatjana’s tried to make him stay in school.” He frowned, staring at Marko for a few moments. “Adnan was the guy you went to the docks with, huh?”

With a shrug, Marko muttered his reply, “Yeah.” He watched the other with curiosity, expecting him to make a big deal out of it.

“He’s annoying. Pisses a lotta people off.”

Marko snickered when Vuk didn’t elaborate, “Kinda sounds like you.”

For a moment, the Alpha seemed to want to retort. Instead, he opened the door, and once again slammed it shut behind him. Amused as Marko was by that, he was also a little annoyed. He thought briefly of how Tolys had reacted to Mr. Adnan in the clinic that morning, and had hoped that Vuk explaining how or why the man was ‘annoying’ would have perhaps shed some light on that. Now that he thought about it more, hadn’t Tolys implied the opposite - that Mr. Adnan was more respected than an annoyance?

Even if he’d tried to brush it off, what Vuk had said about Ilir stuck in Marko’s head. He’d made such a fuss over Marko being away in The North before that it seemed odd for him to be more bothered about Ilir being outside of the stronghold. In fact, Vuk hadn’t reacted much at all to that. So why was Ilir, an Alpha, at more of a risk?

Marko had the rest of the day to chew it all over. There wasn’t anything for him to gain himself out of helping Ilir, but he still felt inclined to do so (not that there was anything he wanted anyway, except to go back home). What Vuk had said about Ilir not being Marko’s responsibility got him thinking, and by the end of the afternoon, he had come to a decision.

The young Alpha was the last to come home that evening. He stepped into the kitchen covered in flecks of wet snow, his face raw and reddened from the cold. Tatjana, who was in the process of taking dinner out of the oven at the time, called at him to be quick about shutting the door.

Vuk had been back a while, but Marko hadn’t spoken to him since that afternoon, let alone mention anything about his upcoming plan. They were seated together at the table as usual though, with Šćepan on Vuk’s other side. When Ilir had come back from the hallway after removing his shoes and jacket, still looking pretty windswept, Marko straightened his back and cleared his throat.

“Hey, Ilir?” Now that the moment had come to bring his idea up, he wondered if just blurting it out would be too far forward. He asked instead, “How was your day?”

After taking the seat next to Šćepan, Ilir gave an abrupt reply, “Fine.” He didn’t seem too thrilled about being asked, which didn’t help Marko’s concerns.

Marko was about to speak again when he was interrupted by Tatjana; with the aid of a dishcloth, she plopped an earthenware dish in the middle of the table. She looked almost as disheveled as Ilir did, strands of her hair stuck to her forehead from spending most of the evening in the overly-warm kitchen (she had refused to open a window with the snow falling outside). “Phewf!” She tossed the dishcloth onto a nearby counter before sitting herself down. “Sure is hard work, making double the food for you all.”

Vuk side-eyed her, grabbing the spoon from the dish. “I offered you help. You chased me out.” He dropped the food onto Tatjana’s plate instead of his own.

With a snort, Šćepan commented, “Not like it takes a whole lotta effort anyway.”

Tatjana forced a wry smile, moving the spoon around to Ilir, and there was a dull whack as she kicked Šćepan under the table.

Ilir kept his vision downcast as he served himself. The scent of tomatoes and warm spices started to permeate the room. When he’d returned the spoon, he mumbled under his breath, “W’nna go b’ck t’morrow.”

No one responded in the moments that followed. Both Marko and Vuk straightened in their seats, but clearly for different reasons.

When Vuk broke the silence and challenged him, he sounded bored, “You go back there, then you don’t come back here.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Tatjana whipped her head in Vuk’s direction. “What an awful thing to say!”

“It’s fine, Sis.” Ilir glowered across at his eldest brother. His lips twitched and his nose crinkled, but he made no movement otherwise.

“No, it’s not fine!” The effort she was putting into not raising her voice much more was visible. She also looked upon Vuk with indignation. “Th-This isn’t even your house for you to make decisions like that about!”

Marko stole a glance then at Vuk, for the first time in a while. The Alpha shrugged, an expression that was surprisingly neutral on his face. “Fine.” He made a brief motion towards Šćepan and said, “You’re the man of the house, Šće, you tell him.”

Stuffing his mouth full of bread, Šćepan gave Vuk a vacant stare back. He chewed slowly, not even attempting to form words. Returning his gaze to Tatjana, Vuk gave her a look as if to say ‘I told you so’.

“It’s my house too!” She snapped. “If I wanted to, I could tell _you_ to leave!”

Ilir wriggled a bit in his seat. “There’s places I could go…”

Tatjana pushed Ilir’s plate closer to him, though her focus was still mostly on Vuk. “You’re not going anywhere. Eat your dinner.”

Stifling, Ilir piped up, “I don’t need you to treat me like a kid too! You’re as bad as he is!”

What Marko had hoped would be a good opportunity to bring up his idea was spiralling out of control. He wasn’t sure if he’d get another chance, though; he got the impression either Vuk or Ilir would soon give up and storm off. He cleared his throat, and a second later all eyes were on him.

He turned towards Vuk. Seeing the disdain on the man’s face, part of him wished he’d stayed quiet. “I thought about goin’ back out there too.”

Vuk narrowed his eyes, tilting his head back a bit. He was confused and suspicious. When he didn’t receive an explanation in the next few moments he asked coolly, “Why the hell do _you_ wanna go?”

“There’s a lack of medical care in the industrial district.” Those had been Erzsébet’s words once, though she had over time bluntened it to ‘there are sick people there you could help’. “I don’t have much to do at the clinic, so I could probably help out over there.” He glanced over at Ilir, who just stared back, apathetic. “Ilir could come with me.”

With the room quiet again for a few moments, Vuk glanced over at Ilir in thought, before turning back to Marko and replying off-hand, “That place’s where traffickers operate. You wanna get caught, like back in The North? ‘Cause I sure as hell won’t be there to save you again.” A prominent frown crossed his face. “I already told you - Ilir isn’t your responsibility. You wanna fuck yourself over, go ahead, but leave him outta it.”

Having expected a response like that, Marko didn’t take it to heart. He’d prepared an answer, but decided against mentioning it over the dinner table. Instead, he acted as if he had brushed it off - which must have seemed odd, but he wasn’t too concerned about that. He began to eat, saying nothing more. He felt a mild sense of guilt, but only because as he lowered his head he caught sight of the short-lived glimpse of hopefulness upon Ilir’s face.

He bided his time, and waited until he could speak with Vuk alone later in the evening to bring the matter up again. Ilir had disappeared upstairs as soon as he’d finished eating, and Šćepan hadn’t been far behind. After he’d offered to clear the plates away, Tatjana had left Marko alone in the kitchen to do so; he assumed by the time he was done that she was upstairs as well. Vuk had retired to the living room to smoke. He was sprawled on the couch looking comfortable, his head propped up by his forearm.

Inhaling a deep breath of the thick, tobacco-scented air, Marko began, “Ilir’s gonna leave the stronghold whether ya want him to or not.” He leant against the doorframe, not planning on taking a seat. “If he comes with me, then at least I’ll be able to watch his back.”

Vuk released a breath, and lowered his cigarette to the ashtray settled on the floor next to him. He didn’t move otherwise, as if to give the impression he hadn’t heard what Marko had said. When he spoke, it was sudden. “You plan on staying at the docks?”

“Dunno where else I’d be able to go.”

Whilst flicking the cigarette, the Alpha made a throaty grunting noise. “As much as I hate to have to admit it, you’re right. The kid does what he wants, whatever the hell I say.” He muttered in a monotone, never moving his head to look at Marko. “Another thing I hate to admit is with Adnan around, the docks’re pretty safe. Guy’s the fucking human equivalent of a scarecrow.” He snorted and took another long drag.

Marko still didn’t quite get what was so bothersome about Mr. Adnan, but he found what Vuk was saying otherwise to be more important. Had the Alpha changed his mind, after all? He suppressed a smile, not wanting to get his hopes up.

Some time passed before Vuk spoke again, “S’long as he swears he’s gonna stay at the docks, he can go.”

Feeling a strange mix of success, relief and suspicion, Marko eyed him. “You sure changed your tune pretty quick.”

“You want me to change it again?” Vuk waved the hand holding the cigarette. “Go to bed. I’ll let the brat know when I go too.” As Marko began to leave, his voice cut across the room again, “One more thing.”

The initial elation of Marko actually having managed to convince Vuk of something began to die down. ‘One more thing’ didn’t seem to bode well. “What is it?”

“If Adnan does what he normally does, he’s gonna be hanging around for two months from today. After that, he’ll be away another month.” He took a short pause, his tone becoming sharper in between. “I don’t trust the bastard one lil’ bit, but like I said, it’s ‘cause he’s there the docks’re safe.”

Marko got the gist of what he was saying. “Ya don’t want us to go out when he’s not there?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Treatin’ people for two months then shuttin’ down for one isn’t exactly realistic, y’know.”

“If it’s life or death, they’ve got their own hospitals. ‘Sides, when you’re on your own out there, you won’t have the equipment the clinic has, or anything like that.”

He had taken that into consideration earlier - or, as a matter of fact, hadn't considered it at all. But he didn't plan on letting Vuk know that exact fact. “Guess not.” He rubbed at the back of his head, deciding to skim over the matter. “Let’s uh, cross that bridge when we get to it, though. I gotta ton of shit to think about already.”

“Whatever you say.” The Alpha flicked his hand again. “I sure as hell hope you’ve got some idea of what exactly it is you’re doing, though.”

Marko hoped so too.

 

* * *

 

Dawn hadn’t yet broken when Marko’s day began. It was dark enough that he couldn’t see which foot he was putting in front of the other, but apparently light enough for the stronghold’s streetlights to have been turned out. Ilir didn’t appear to be anywhere near as groggy as he was. He was difficult to read, but Marko guessed he was excited to be allowed outside the walls, even if he didn’t show it. If he were in Ilir’s shoes himself, he was sure that was how he’d have felt.

A blanketed woman opened the stronghold’s eastern door for them. Unlike the man from the day before, she was wide awake, but greeted them with a yawn and muttered something about being pleased her shift would soon be over. By the time they were out and the door had closed again behind them, the first morning light was just visible upon the far horizon - a blend of grey and purple splitting the black night and the water. The snowstorm had passed overnight, leaving a clear, fresh air behind.

“S’anyone even awake this early?” Marko asked, his words a little slurred. He rubbed at his tired eyes as the chill started to irritate them.

Ilir didn’t reply, but went on ahead to the docks, forcing Marko to stumble after him. _The Sultan_ was anchored by the jetty, a shaded figure against the muted colours on the horizon. When the young Alpha reached the top of the walkway, he stood still; at first, Marko thought he was waiting for him to catch up, but when he got nearer himself, he saw that he’d spotted someone at the other end, looking out towards the east, perhaps waiting for the sun to rise. Instead of approaching them, as Marko had expected him to do, Ilir started to make his way around the dock buildings. “Gonna look for somewhere to set up.” He muttered, voice restrained.

Even though Marko had reminded himself to be careful about letting Ilir wander too far, he didn’t go after him. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he walked the length of the jetty instead. A few steps in, and he identified the person stood there as Mr. Adnan - by the bulkiness of his shoulders, and the fact he wore the same jacket as the day before, with its hood still up. Which made Marko wonder - had the guy even slept?

“You still stink of him.” Mr. Adnan said bluntly, but without obvious spite, when Marko was still a few yards away. He didn’t turn around. “Don’t have any clothes of your own, huh?”

For a moment, Marko was still. Then, he decided to close the gap between them instead of talking over the distance. “Haven’t had chance to get any.” Nor did he have the money to do so.

Mr. Adnan snickered to himself, before changing the subject, “You come to watch the sunrise, kid?”

“Nah.” Remembering why he was there, Marko replied, “I guess there’s somethin’ I need to clear up with ya, actually.” But then, he processed what Mr. Adnan had just said. Standing at his side, he looked towards the other man’s face. In place of where the bandage had been the day before, there was a white mask, curved across the bridge of his nose and across to his ears, but with his hood up it wasn’t easy to see his eyes. “Uh. Did _you_ come to watch the sunrise?”

Apparently the Alpha interpreted Marko's words with the exact meaning he'd had behind them - which was to say, 'Aren't you blind?'; with a strained smile, he spoke again, “Wish I had, but I can’t really appreciate it. I just came to get some air.”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Marko explained, “Ilir told me he wanted to come here to work for you. So I kinda made an excuse for him. Said I’d run checkups on the locals whilst keepin’ an eye on him. Only, Vuk decided it was only okay so long as you’re here.” With a sheepish look, he continued, “Truth is, I'm not _actually_ gonna do that." Whilst there was a part of him that recalled Vuk's opinion of Mr. Adnan and questioned whether trusting him with the details of his plan was a good idea or not, ultimately, the unit was his property, so he was somewhat obliged to be honest. "I just gotta keep up appearances. Is that a problem? I don’t uh, wanna get in the way of you guys or anythin’.”

Though Mr. Adnan looked puzzled, it wasn’t for long. “Heh! S’that your excuse? Or did ya just miss me so much, you had to find a way to get back out here?” With a grin, he turned his head in Marko’s direction. Something glinted behind the right-hand eye slit of the mask. Just by staring back at him, Marko could understand why people found him intimidating on the surface. And moments after looking upon Marko's face, the grin disappeared. It turned vacant, and then his brow furrowed in the shade of his hood. Matching his expression, his tone was unsettled. " _You_...?"

Not able to understand the sudden reaction, and looking equally as confused in that moment, Marko slowly responded, "...Uh. _Me_?" He was certain they'd never crossed paths before the previous day; Marko, for one, was sure he'd remember meeting someone like Mr. Adnan. Perhaps he just looked like someone he knew - or used to know. Which, given the way the word 'you' had been spoken, was likely not a good thing.  _Great, I probably have an idiot doppelganger that owes him a shit ton of money._

But not long after, Mr. Adnan had turned away, shaking his head to himself. Though it was under his breath, Marko heard him say, "Couldn't be..." - before he appeared to compose himself. He snorted and said, “Anyway, it’s fine by me. Takes the weight off my shoulders knowing Mišić’s not got a problem with it, either.”

Gaze cast back out at the lilac hues forming across the sea, Marko sucked in a breath of cold air. Picturesque as the view was, he didn't feel like lingering around. There was something about the simple accusation that he might be someone known to Mr. Adnan - even if it had just been a misunderstanding, as the man had supposed it to have been - left him feeling discomforted (not to mention awkward). “Ilir said he was gonna go find somewhere for me to hang around. I should go find him.” Eyes back on the other man, he added, “Thanks, Mr. Adnan.”

Though it didn't do much to shift the uneasiness, the Alpha offered him another smile. “Call me Sadık.”

It took Marko a moment to understand that must have been his first name. He’d yet to hear anyone else call him by it - after all, despite what he’d heard said about him, wasn’t he a respected figure? “Uh-huh.” For the sake of acknowledgment, Marko spoke again, whilst mustering a tense smile of his own. “Thanks, Sadık.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

[13i.]

Francis did not like to rise early.

He especially did not like to do so after a late night of drinking. But _Toscana_ wine was always excellent. A little _too_ excellent, if he were to be entirely honest. How many bottles was it this time? Three? And all to himself… Of course, he had requested that his spouse join him - a request he would make every evening, were drinking involved or no, but it had been declined. Sometimes, Francis despaired; why had he ever entered into a marriage with someone who had no taste for wine?

The familiar weight was not at the other side of the bed. Even with his pounding headache, he could tell. Odd, as they usually woke at around the same time. Though his eyes were sore he squinted, raising his head and trying to find the bedside clock. The glowing red digits were a stark contrast to the unending darkness. Six forty-four. If he didn’t rise soon, someone would come to wake him. He groaned a little, wishing it were not so. Why did his bed have to be so much more warm and comfortable on mornings like that one?

Stretching his limbs, he slid his legs over the side. The room was suddenly very cold. He wanted to huddle back under the silken sheets, but instead fumbled his hand around for the nightstand. Next to the clock was his phone, and as his fingers brushed the edge of it, he was exceedingly tempted to call the kitchens for a coffee and a light breakfast to be brought to him, and then crawl back into bed whilst he waited for those to arrive. But he supposed there were things he needed to do - duties to be attended to, and the like. The first of which may well have been to find out where his spouse had gotten to at such a time.

_Duties._ He repeated the word over in his head with some wryness. _Perhaps a time will come when I may allow an aching head to relieve me of such things._

He moved his hand to the bedside lamp. The grand room was illuminated with a golden tint; the furnishings cast long shadows over the walls and floor and the thick curtains that framed the tall, west-facing window. Some mornings, later in the year, Francis liked to open the curtains himself, rather than wait for someone else to do so. In the summer months, the light of the rising sun would be cast upon the distant buildings, and in turn their steel faces would reflect a hazy radiance across the gardens. It was truly a sight to behold... But it was still mid-winter, and those warmer days were a long way off. Were he to look upon the gardens and the city beyond that morning, he’d see nothing but glowing specks of industrial streetlights, and eternal darkness beyond.

By the time he had lumbered in and out of the en suite, knocking a couple of aspirin back after his shower, the time was closer to seven. He gathered his hair into a bun, threw on trousers and a shirt that were loose-fitting, as he would dress properly later, and left his room.

Already, the hallway beyond was well-lit. Though it pained both his eyes and head he proceeded on his way, diverting his vision from the brightness of the looming chandeliers. He passed by the private kitchen of his living quarters, only to find the door ajar and the room beyond empty. This was not uncanny; workers from the main kitchen on the ground floor required permission to enter the living quarters, but the lack of their presence meant that his spouse had not done so already. Francis would therefore have to summon the staff himself. As much as the scent of coffee and fresh pastries were calling to him, however, he had a better idea. He decided to take a detour by the library first. Perhaps then he would get an answer to why he had woken up alone… Or, perhaps he would not, but it did seem like the most sensible place to start.

As was to be expected, the hallway, in spite of the many doors he passed by, was empty. Much of the palace was not in use, many of its bedrooms and suites were wholly vacant, with not even a single piece of furniture within them. Francis recalled that it had been constructed for a much larger family than his own. In time, he supposed that would change.

After stepping around the corner, he saw that the hallway was not entirely empty, after all. A familiar figure that brought a welcoming smile to his face was stood in silence, head raised and facing one of the number of portraits that adorned the wall in front of her. He approached, and soon she noticed he was there.

She turned in his direction, pinched the hem of her skirt and displayed a well-practised curtsy, visibly trying to not look as surprised to see him as she actually was. She said nothing, as she awaited him to speak first.

“Good morning, Eva.” His voice came as a low rumble, but he made the effort to sound amicable.

Eva rose from her position, and brought a cheery smile onto her own face. She was a small woman in her early twenties, dark skinned with thick coils of black hair. As per the norm, these were pulled back into two pigtails and fell over her shoulders with ruby-coloured ribbons that matched her lipstick. There was still a great deal of youth in her face, something that didn’t seem to fade even with the stress of her role. She wore a cleanly pressed suit dress of sky blue; standing at her side, Francis must have looked like he had been dragged through his gardens’ hedges backwards.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” She said, with a pleasant tone, despite the hour of the morning. More often than not, Francis wished it was acceptable for her to address him by his first name, and nothing more. He put the thought aside and motioned to the picture that had taken her interest. Though he knew every face of each of the many hand-painted portraits, he was especially aware of the one she had been looking at. He was curious to know why.

“Were you admiring Giotto’s work, my dear?” He placed a hand upon her shoulder, turning her with a gentle pull back to face the portrait with him. He cared little if such an action was inappropriate - after all, the only person around to tell him so was Eva herself. Motioning his free hand at the portrait, he spoke with as much vigor as he could muster without yet having had his first coffee of the day, “Such clean and elegant brush strokes! And the lighting is superb; it must have been very difficult to do with a limited pallette. It almost resembles a photograph, does it not? I do envy his talent.” He realised then that he must have been regurgitating the same sort of thing he told everyone about the painting, even if his words were genuine. In an attempt to hope she believed so, he lowered his head to look upon her again briefly, adding in a softer tone, “It must be the most beautiful painting in the city, perhaps in all of the world.”

Eva was used to how he was, he supposed, as she neither resisted his hand moving her, nor did she agree at once with his statement. The first of his personal assistants would have done exactly the opposite. That was what he liked about Eva: the same Eva who made sure he was awake on a morning, who booked his appointments and made sure he kept to his schedule, was the same Eva that would do little things like be surprised to see him or - as she was doing - not mind that the King was not supposed to be touched by anyone that wasn’t a relative (of course, he was the one touching her, so protocol was not _technically_ being broken)… To have his arm around a pretty young woman, he felt free of his heaviest duties and obligations… He almost felt a Prince again.

“I was just thinking, how much she looks like you.” As she kept her gaze fixated on the portrait, Eva slowed her words, which made the lilt of her accent more prominent. “It’s so strange! I pass this picture by almost every day, but I never really noticed it before.”

Francis, too, eyed the painting once more. It was a bust of a forwards-facing woman, fair-faced and rosy-cheeked. Dressed in layers of white lace and plum-coloured satin, her thick yellow hair was gathered at the top of her head and pinned beneath the jewelled spires of her crown. Her hands were clasped in front of her breast, within which she held the hilt of a sword, blade pointed downwards, that glinted the same gunmetal blue as her eyes. She gazed back at them, stone-faced and chin proudly lifted, exposing her long neck and flowing topline. Beneath the golden rim of the frame lay a plaque; a pointless tidbit - no one who had access to that particular hallway would have to question whom the portrait showed.

**Her Most Gracious Majesty  
** **Queen Marianne Helaine Francis IV of House Bonnefoy  
** **Empress of Utopia**

“You are too kind.” Francis gave Eva’s shoulder a slight squeeze. As much as he appreciated her comment, even if it wasn’t wholly intended to be a compliment, he couldn’t help but feel a little saddened. Marianne had been a young Queen herself, inheriting the throne at eighteen, and she had died a young Queen, not even reaching her fiftieth birthday. Giotto’s portrait showed her at nineteen, not long before her marriage to a man from the central elite. Francis himself was born three years later. Her life had been short and difficult; complications with the birth of Francis’s younger sister, Monique, crippled the Queen and left her unable to carry out many of her duties as a figurehead for Utopia. Other royals, including Francis himself, had to take over.

Yet, Francis often had neglected his duties, in favour of using his title as the Heir to the Throne to venture into the centre’s more questionable districts and surround himself with tobacco, alcohol and beautiful women. He had certainly enjoyed such positive aspects of being a Prince, but not the responsibilities that had come with it. And then, as he was wallowing in such pleasures, a curse of death cast itself upon House Bonnefoy. His grandmother - the Queen Mother - was made bedridden by the flu one terrible winter, and passed peacefully in her sleep. The Prince Consort was not so lucky; at a formal gathering, a rival from the elite, jealous of his royal rank, poisoned his drink. In the week after her husband’s funeral, Marianne’s health deteriorated. And then, one day, though he was sure that Death’s icy cold fingers were lingering mere inches away from his own neck, marking him out as the next to go, Francis was King.

Thinking back to the days he had spent as a careless Prince, Francis realised it had been a long time since he had been to bed with a woman. It was a cold, dark morning, one he had not wanted to face upon waking up, and now he had been reminded of his mother’s tragic death it had been made even worse… Perhaps there was a chance Eva would make him feel better. The sorrow faded from his face and he curled his lips further, lowering his hand down her arm.

Before he could speak again, Eva turned in his hold to face him. “Oh, yes, by the way, Sire - I came here to wake you up.” The next smile she showed him was one that was strained and false. “ _Prince Arthur_...” She almost spat the name out like it was bad wine, and Francis supposed he could not blame her for it. “...Requests your presence in the library.”

“Ahh.” Francis was aware he sounded quite uninterested with that response. His husband was exactly where he thought he was, yet his request was curious. However, not curious enough that it could overtake the new thoughts that had displaced those of heading to the library. “I am sure it is nothing of great importance, Eva.” A little shiver ran through him as his lips spread further and he added, “But now that you are here, there is a... ‘Little something’ I need help with in my room...”

Whether or not she had figured out his ulterior motives, Francis could not tell, but Eva did not respond the way he wanted. Instead, she placed her hands on her hips. “I’m afraid, Sire, that the Prince told me it was of _significant_ importance.” She rolled her eyes a bit. “He made sure to tell me so five times.”

It didn’t take long for Francis to acknowledge that Eva was only speaking with the usual disdain she had for Arthur. He sighed, supposing that bringing Eva to bed with him, rather than making haste for the library, was likely not the best of ideas. He gave the young woman’s shoulder a small rub before releasing it. “Very well, my dear. Though, I cannot imagine what that imbecile wants at such an unholy hour.”

Francis spent the rest of his leisurely stroll down to the library wondering exactly that. He drifted through the empty corridors of the royals’ living quarters, descended the staircases to the ground floor. The servants wouldn’t enter the living quarters until it was made known that every member of the royal family was awake and about, and Francis was quite certain that Monique would not rise for another couple of hours. _If only she had been born first_ , he mumbled inwardly. By the time he had slipped through the back entrance to the library, his limbs were already aching. Someone would be on hand to fetch him a coffee, he hoped.

Of all the private rooms in the palace, the library was among the most stunning. If the beauty of the room was why Arthur spent a good portion of his time in there, then Francis could understand. Marble-floored with high, curved ceilings, column after column of tightly-packed bookcases covered the interior walls, the length of the room stretched along the whole of the north side of the building. During the daylight hours, natural light would enter from the tall, arched windows that looked out upon the front plaza. Instead, when Francis stepped in, the curtains were drawn and the chandeliers ablaze.

“...The mountains of the territory of which we call ‘The North’, therefore, became the most desolate and isolated part of the Utopian state.” A soft voice that Francis recognised well, but did not belong to Arthur, swelled across the quiet void of the library. “Whilst the peninsula remains temperate throughout the year, strange weather-related phenomena have been reported due to the oddities of the ‘Far North’, particularly during the winter months.”

The extract read aloud belonged to a publically available text, aptly named ‘The Geopolitics of the State of Utopia’. Several different hard copies existed within the palace’s library, but only the most recent revision was in circulation outside of the building’s walls, including within HQ’s official documentations. Many of the books in the library were of that nature - copies of historical texts that had once existed in circulation, rewritten for the public eye, or else banned altogether.

Francis was well aware of why, and it troubled him. As a boy, and even as a younger man, he had been easily fooled. Looking out upon Utopia from inside the safety of the palace walls, living in ignorance of the state’s demise was not just the simplest way of life, but the one he was encouraged to follow. Once, centuries ago, books had almost disappeared from Utopia entirely. This was considered a symbol of the changing times; computerised alternatives began to replace them, as was the case with the rest of the world. But HQ soon realised that it was difficult to pacify a populace that had information so readily. They detested the government, and the ‘needless’ goal of reunification; they opposed the war in The South, and called The Omega Project inhumane.

_Perhaps they were right to do so_ , Francis often thought. But he told no one about said thoughts. He dared not. He _could_ not.

The achievements of the technological revolution were uprooted in Utopia. Books with content that could not be challenged were reintroduced. Monitored radio became the most common form of long-range communication. Anyone who spoke out against HQ, The Omega Project or the crown was taken care of. Within generations both the elite and the less fortunate were placated - and the reunification of the peninsula began. It was only in very recent times, when the project had been dismantled that there was a threat of dissent once again.

And so, Francis had to wonder - why was that extract of The Geopolitics of the State of Utopia being read aloud that morning?

“What do you suppose caused these oddities?” A second - deeper and sharper, yet also familiar - voice asked, a good few moments after the first had finished speaking.

The response from the first voice came slowly, almost with reluctance, “A disaster.” A pause followed, and then a reiteration, “ _The_ disaster…”

“They say it’s like the Earth is scarred. Nothing can live or grow there, let alone flourish. Can’t say for sure, though. I’ve never seen it myself, and I don’t suppose I ever will.” A small clinking sound followed, likely that of a teacup being placed upon a saucer. “Those that survived fled to the safety of this peninsula, my ancestors among them. Utopia was born from the ashes of the disaster.”

A conversation on the origins of the state - and _before dawn_? Francis felt weary just from hearing them speak. Upon reaching the study area where it was taking place, enclosed and separated from the rest of the library by a few rows of bookcases, he stopped to watch.

Seated at the small table of the study, the heavy volume of Utopian history open upon the polished surface in front of him, was Francis’s cousin. Guillem Belmont was an anomaly, which would not be an obvious fact if one were to come across him for the first time. A small, slender and tawny-skinned young man whose effeminate face was framed by locks of chocolate-brown hair, he already appeared to be dressed for the day in a plain button-up shirt. The moment he caught sight of Francis, he rose in an instance from his seat, and crossed his arm over his stomach so as to bow politely. He did not speak, but retained the startled look that he had been given by the conversation, like a deer caught in headlights.

Despite their familial relation, Francis had only known this cousin of his for four years, though he had heard the occasional word about him, whispered by the royals and elite and servants alike, every so often around the palace growing up. Guillem was a bastard child, the product of adultery committed by Marianne’s younger brother - not with a woman, but with an Omega. Such actions were, at the time, unforgivable, for then the only humans allowed to procreate with Omegas were criminals in the custody of HQ, for the purpose of preventing bloodlines from overlapping. Guillem, an Omega himself, was birthed in secret, and his parents were both executed shortly after, on the charge of both misconduct and attempted contamination of the royal lineage. But the boy himself was allowed to live - first within isolation in the HQ building, and later within the confines of the palace. It pained Francis to have to continue to carry out his mother’s word. Despite the difference his marriage to Arthur and the general dissolution of The Omega Project had made, Guillem had still been born out of wedlock; he was never allowed to show his face in public.

“Good morning, Guillem.” Francis said, as he made for the closest vacant seat at the table.

Like clockwork, Guillem responded in his meek voice, “Good morning, Your Majesty.” Once Francis had taken his seat, he returned to his own.

All the while, the other man at the table didn’t budge an inch, not even to lift his teacup again. Francis turned to him, motioning to the open book, and with an air of humour addressed him, “What is this, Arthur? Geography class, so early in the morning? The poor boy, I should have your head for torturing him!”

The look Arthur gave him in return was mildly disdainful - for a moment, until he snorted, the corners of his thin lips twitching upwards. With a tone of voice to match Francis’s, he answered, “A person’s memory serves them much better in the morning. Shame you wouldn’t know that yourself.” Only then did he reach for his tea.

One of the few things Francis did genuinely like about Arthur was his sense of humour. There was, in fact, little else. He was an average, if not slightly odd-looking man - upright in posture and appearance, though he lacked the grace Francis would have looked for, were he given the option to choose his own consort. Pale with high cheekbones, he had a thick, heavy brow and light mousy hair. There had always been something about Arthur, merely from appearances, that Francis had found irritating, though it had lessened over getting used to his presence over time - perhaps it was the fact he always looked prepared to turn his nose up at anything anyone was to say, no matter who or what they were. He rarely did, yet Francis could not put his finger on why he felt it was so possible regardless.

“My tutors were not so cruel.” Francis commented, before relaxing in his seat. “My apologies for interrupting. Please, do continue.” There was blatant irony in his voice this time - he was certain listening to the historical text being read out and the discussion around it would lull him back to sleep.

“Actually, I think we’re done for now.” Arthur drank a mouthful of tea before nodding his head across the table. “Thank you, Guillem. I’ll see you this afternoon. Put the book back and go get yourself some breakfast.”

Breakfast was sounding better and better the longer Francis was going without his coffee. He acknowledged Guillem as he scooped up the book and bowed once more before departing the study area, but was more concerned with the fact that he had almost forgotten why he was in the library to begin with. “You wished to speak with me?” Once Guillem’s footsteps had disappeared into the distance, Francis leant forwards on the table, his chin resting on the heel of his palm. He did not mind adopting a more leisurely pose around the other man, when there were no other eyes upon them.

“Yes.” Mustering an air of seriousness, Arthur asked, “Remember where I was yesterday evening, whilst you were enjoying yourself here?”

Francis recalled the _Toscana_ wine at once, but it took him a little longer to give a straight answer. “Ah. You were at your clinic, no?” There was a small healthcare unit that served Alphas and Omegas living in the centre; Arthur attended occasional appointments there, though he always did so after typical service hours, when he was less likely to be spotted. Both he and Francis had their own personal physicians as well, yet the specialist equipment that was used to check an Omega’s health was at the clinic.

Arthur was very knowledgeable about the equipment used by Omegas (all of their medics were Omegas - they would be trained from a young age and the role would never have been given to an Alpha). He was, in fact, able to operate all of it himself, but it would have been impossible for him to perform his own examinations. In the HQ building where he spent most of his time, he had access to many different apparatus - tools and machines and other such things that Francis could not even begin to wonder the uses behind. He knew of the function of two things. The first was the main databank, which was stored under heavy security in the HQ building, and not only contained information on every registered citizen of Utopia, but acted as the main hub for automata control. The second was the birthing chambers - which Francis often wished he knew _less_ about; the process of delivering an Omega’s child was a difficult one. According to Arthur, in a time gone by when the chambers were far less safe, childbirth had killed more Omegas than old age had. It was a wonder they had managed to keep going.

“Indeed.” Arthur looked Francis straight in the eye. “As you know, my condition hasn’t improved. I’m not sure it ever will.” He drew a breath in through his nose. “I shall have to take the medication for the rest of my years.”

Francis had been expecting Arthur to say something along those lines. He had been ill from a young age, though it was not something that was visible. His medication allowed him to function normally, though it also had a significant effect on his heat cycles. “I am sorry.” He said, with sincerity. “You are still researching a cure yourself though, are you not?”

“I am. You have to understand though, Francis - there’s only so much research I can do using myself as a subject.” Arthur frowned, and folded his hands on the table. “I may be stating the obvious here, but I wouldn’t be too optimistic about me ever giving you an heir.”

_A shame,_ Francis thought to himself - though knowing about Arthur’s condition, he had taken the matter into consideration before. “Ah…” He feigned a little more disappointment than he was actually feeling. “It is alright, Arthur. Your health is more important.” It took him all of his self control not to let himself smile at that moment in time, in fact. “I am King, after all. I shall amend the law, and take a wife.” _Or four_ … Four sounded like a good number. If he were to make such a change to the law, allowing for polygamous marriage, he supposed he may as well take full advantage of it.

But Arthur did not look at all impressed by that idea. He crinkled his nose, his head jerking backwards. “What...? You mean, a wife, as well as me?”

Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, Francis replied, “That is the idea, yes. Perhaps you could choose her... I am a little curious to know what your taste in women is like.”

“Th-That’s a terrible idea!” Arthur blurted out, looking as if he were about to jump out of his seat and strangle Francis across the table. Instead, he grunted in disapproval and turned his head away. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Eyeing the slight dejection upon his husband’s face at that moment, Francis did suppose his comment was selfish. It was probably not very easy for Arthur to know he could not give them a child, now that he considered it. Even so, was there any another solution? “I am sorry. Perhaps you have an idea, yourself?”

Raising his head again, Arthur replied, returning to his previous clear tone, “As a matter of fact, I do.” And once again, he stared straight at Francis, and very upfront, told him, “I’d like for you to abdicate, and offer the crown to Guillem.”

Francis’s arm fell so quickly that he almost dropped forwards onto the table.

“Arthur…” He held the man’s gaze, lips parted. But Arthur, whom still appeared mildly hurt by the wife idea, said nothing more. Francis waited for him to crack, as he assumed it to be a joke, yet whilst silence fell between them he showed no indication of doing so. “Let us be serious about this.” He coughed. Perhaps he should have expected such a sharp response from the other after what he had proposed.

Almost nonchalant, Arthur spoke again, “I’m completely serious.”

Francis could hardly believe those words had left the other man’s mouth. The realisation that Arthur was not making a flippant joke whatsoever began to dawn on him - the longer he stared into those blank green eyes the further the icy pang of dread spread in his gut.

Supposedly, _his_ solution was ridiculous, but Arthur thought _that_? Francis spluttered, “Wh-What are you saying!? That is... Preposterous! I-I cannot abdicate simply because _you_ cannot give me an heir!” The mere suggestion was ludicrous - appalling. And for it to have come from _Arthur_ of all people… As the head of HQ, he was supposed to use his resolve to aid the monarch, not to work against them. Francis felt as if he had been stabbed in the back, and in the heart, for that matter. He was close to jumping out of his seat and storming out of the library. Straightening his back, Francis did his best to limit his anger, despite the circumstance. “And even if I _were_ ever to do such a thing, Guillem is not the next in line for the throne.”

Arthur’s reply was almost as shocking as his previous statement, “Right. You’ll have to ask Monique to give up her position, too.”

In spite of his efforts the dread turned to ire the moment those words were uttered. The next thing Francis knew, he was on his feet, the legs of the chair groaning as they marred the polished floor. “How dare you!? I shall not allow you to speak of my sister that way!” His voice began to rise, though he was not quite aware of it, or of exactly what he was saying with the frustration clouding his rationality. “If you were not my husband I would have you--”

“Do pipe down.” Arthur interjected. When Francis had risen from his seat he had given him a somewhat surprised look, otherwise he did not appear at all flawed by his reaction. After he had spoken, however, a frown crossed his face. “It isn’t as if I’m asking you to end the monarchy entirely.”

_Only my lineage_ , Francis thought, but found that when he tried to speak the same words aloud, they became caught within his throat. Just what was Arthur trying to do? Francis could not comprehend why he would want such a thing - but his first guess was that it had something to do with Guillem being an Omega. That was the reason that Arthur’s father, when head of HQ, had arranged him to marry Francis: they wanted to create a monarchy of Omegakind. Precisely why, Francis did not know, but were they to have a child together, Alpha or Omega, their son would be an entirely legitimate heir. Guillem, however, was not suitable… Had that been Arthur’s plan from the beginning - to force Francis off the throne? The sheer notion of it made him want to break his relative composure and strangle the man.

_No_. It could not have been that. Arthur had not known that his condition would bring this about; surely a child of his own would have been his first choice.

“Arthur.” After sitting down again, Francis leant forwards on the table, balling a fist in his hair from frustration. “You _are_ aware of Guillem’s… Family, are you not?”

“His lineage is more acceptable nowadays, isn’t it? I’m sure the people won’t mind that he was born out of wedlock.” Without focusing on him, Arthur’s voice became almost a disembodied drone to Francis. “They _do_ trust your judgement. They’ll trust Guillem all the same.”

It was not just the circumstances of Guillem’s birth. There was more to it. After inhaling a deep breath, Francis released the grip on his hair, letting his hands drop. “I do not mean his parents.” Sidelong, he peered at Arthur, examining the relative neutralness of his expression. “His Omega father had a brother - older than he was, but an Omega also. This brother had two sons. They are Guillem’s cousins.”

“And?” Arthur cocked a brow.

“They are…” Francis almost strained to speak. “ _Wall-dwellers_.”

Instead of looking taken aback, Arthur started to look curious. “Well, that’s not exactly a surprise. Most Alphas and Omegas are in that stronghold.” Nonchalant, he continued, “If it’s their nobility status you’re concerned for, grant them both landed titles.”

“I shall do no such thing!” It was not their status, but rather their affiliations that concerned Francis. That Arthur could be so careless about such matters was unsettling. The Alphas and Omegas from the self-proclaimed ‘stronghold’ - those which they called the ‘Wall-dwellers’ - were allied with the ongoing rebellion that had gained momentum since the dissolution of The Omega Project. Troubling as it may have been, their primary target had always been HQ, and not the royals. Francis had hoped that Arthur, an Omega himself, had plans to deal with the situation, but the way he spoke of Guillem’s cousins… It was almost as if he _endorsed_ the dissenters. He wrung his hands as he lowered his gaze away from Arthur’s face. He did not wish to look him in the eyes. No matter what his husband’s intentions were, he could not help but feel as if Arthur had betrayed him. And all of a sudden, he remembered the death of his father... Was it too much to suppose there might have been a similar ploy in the works, were Francis no longer King? The thought made his stomach knot, and the hairs stand on the back of his neck… If he could not trust Arthur - not just the acting head of the government body but his _husband_ \- who could he trust?

For some time, Arthur was quiet. When he spoke again, he sounded pensive, “Do you know the identities of his cousins? Perhaps they have nothing to do with the rebellion. It’s a rather strange situation they’re in, you know. I shouldn’t incriminate them so readily.”

Under normal circumstances, Francis would likely have heard him out. But his patience was wearing thin. He had always assumed that Arthur’s regular mentoring of Guillem, taking him under his wing and offering him advice, was instinctual due to their nature as Omegas, and so Francis had kept his nose out of it for the most part. Though the events, particularly Arthur’s visit to the clinic the previous evening, did not add up, he could not shake the feeling that Arthur had been preparing Guillem for this all along. Was this the man he had married? Someone who could not only speak of issues like his passing of the crown and Guillem’s family tree like they were unextraordinary, everyday matters?

“ _Arthur_.” Francis winced. He hated to have to be so upfront, but he was certain he would not get an answer otherwise. “I do not understand what you are trying to do.”

“What do you mean?”

_Where to begin?_ “You are up to something. You have been for a while, no?” When Francis finally glanced at Arthur, he narrowed his eyes. “Meddling with the royal lineage is treason. Guillem’s fathers were tried and executed for such a thing. But you have been introducing Omegas into elite society since they were released from the project.” Wishing he had been suspicious of this action earlier, he continued, “At first I thought you were simply offering them good homes... But now, I am not so sure.”

There was stillness upon Arthur’s face. A moment later, a small smile of amusement cracked his more stern façade. “Oh, _please_. That’s precisely what I’m doing, Francis - offering them good homes, I mean. Alphas, too.” Casually, he lifted his teacup a little so as to peer into it, but upon seeing there was very little liquid left inside, that had perhaps turned cold, he placed it back down. “They’ll be relatively safe within elite society. Safer than anywhere else, anyway, but many of them don’t see it that way themselves. They think the stronghold is the safest place to be.” He shrugged. “I expect they’ll see, in time. For now, even knowing that just a small few of them are here is enough.”

Francis still had his suspicions, though hearing Arthur confirm that his intentions were in good faith was welcome. He sighed. “What is it you want from Guillem, then?”

“Don’t you think with an Omega as King, those from the stronghold will become less hostile? We’re quite a tightly-knit kind. Those that are allied with the rebellion may hear Guillem out. A diplomatic solution to their troubles may even be possible to find.”

A diplomatic solution? Above everything else, the strangest thing, Francis realised, was Arthur’s optimism about the matter. Did he really think that at all possible? Perhaps Arthur was looking at the bigger picture; appeasing the rebellion without bloodshed would not just minimise use of HQ’s officials and resources, but would help to prevent future insurgencies from appearing. “And yourself? You are Prince Consort, but they do not seem to have such feelings towards you.”

“Of course they don’t. I am a Kirkland, after all.” Was the very blunt reply.

Francis bit the inside of his lip. Though he saw the sense in Arthur’s ideas, to abdicate was not a choice he could make with carelessness. His advisors and council perhaps would not see things from Arthur’s point of view; they would rebuff any suggestion that a healthy young King should step away from his title - in spite of her disabilities, Marianne continued as Queen until her death. No doubt they would think ill of Francis, were he to abdicate, irrespective of the reason.

Quietness fell between them for a short while. Then, Arthur cleared his throat, “It’s Guillem’s eighteenth birthday this year. Technically the decision to confine him to the palace can be overturned once he does.”

“I suppose so.” Though Francis was sure that were Guillem King himself, the decision would be overturned automatically. Whether or not Guillem was prepared for stepping into the outside world, however, was another matter. Thinking aloud, he muttered, “He is not used to being around strangers. Perhaps there may be a gradual way to introduce him to the outside world...”

“There’s plenty of ways. It’s something we should do, whether you decide to abdicate or not.” Arthur motioned in Francis’s direction with his hand. “You were thinking of holding a gathering this year, weren’t you? Why not have one for Guillem?”

Indeed, Francis had been planning such an event. He had considered one day whilst passing by the palace ballroom that said room - the grandest and most elegant in the entire palace, more so even than the library - sat unused for most of the year. Yet, he could not host a large function without good reason. Now that Arthur had given him a good reason, the cogs in his head began to turn. It had by far been the best idea Arthur had given him that morning so far… It was unfortunate that the notion of abdication had to have come along with it. He drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Very well. I shall consider it.”

Arthur rose from his seat, and collected his teacup. It was likely that he had requested their conversation be private, and so there would be no servants on hand to clear the cup away for him. “Excellent.” Once stood straight, he began to walk, adding in an almost dismissive voice, “I’ll be heading over to the HQ building after breakfast. Have a good day, Francis.”

Once more, Francis wished that he could return to his bed and sleep away the majority of what Arthur had said and wake up and realise it had all been a dream. But knowing very well that it was not merely his imagination playing tricks upon him made him feel numb. To be faced with a difficult decision that would not only affect his life, but would have significant effects on Utopian society as a whole. When Arthur had departed the library, Francis looked at his hands, resting upon the table before him. He had not realised until then, but they were shaking… But why? Anger? Fear? He did not know.

When Arthur had first brought the abdication up he had thought it absurd. And yet, even when there had been some sense added to it, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. _What if Arthur is bluffing?_ He tried to reason with his intrusive thoughts, though it didn’t ease what he was feeling, _No, it would be too elaborate a lie… But, what if…?_

_...I shall feel better after breakfast_ , he told himself, but he also did not feel he could stomach anything. He heaved himself to his feet regardless, and carried himself across the length of the library, to the hall beyond.

Like the corridor near to his bedroom, the hall of the northern wing was adorned with portraits of his ancestors. Those from the royal quarters were simply intimate portraits belonging to the family; those within the northern wing were full-length and stunning - they were for visitors to see, so that they may witness the splendor of the monarchs from times gone by. Francis had to cross this hallway to reach the kitchens, but his mind would not remain on his destination. Instead he had to ask himself, as he passed the faces of the long dead Kings and Queens of House Bonnefoy: _Will I even have a portrait of my own?_

Marianne stood towards the hallway’s end, adorned in layers of beautiful midnight-coloured fabric and lace, the banner of their household carried in one hand and their sword grasped tight in the other. The very same sword, with its intricate, curved embossing and wing-like crossguard appeared in many of the portraits along the wall, for it first had belonged to a King of many generations ago, who had named the blade after his wife - _Anastasia_ \- and it had been passed along his descendents as an heirloom. It was naught but a ceremonial instrument, yet tradition required the monarch to carry it whenever they were in attendance of an official event. Otherwise, it was locked away, awaiting the next use Francis would have for it - if such a time was going would occur. The spouse of the monarch was also allowed their own ceremonial blade, though their carrying of it was not mandatory; Arthur, who had quite liked the idea of such a tradition, had one made half a year into their marriage.

Though Francis did not like that picture nearly as much as the one in the royal quarters, he could still imagine the effect it had on those who would look upon it for the first time. In that image, his mother looked stronger than a hundred automata; stronger than a hundred Alphas. What would she have thought of him passing the crown to Guillem? Would she have been able to understand what it was that Arthur wanted, or would she have scorned Francis thinking his husband might well have been right? He wished he knew.

_I am sorry, Mama. If such decisions are beyond my judgment, then perhaps I am not fit to be King, after all._

 

[13ii.]

Tatjana didn’t like waking up late.

Most days, she would wake before anyone else in the house. She would shuffle out of bed and tread softly downstairs, so as not to wake anyone else up, but the floorboards would always creak a little, no matter how careful she was.

She knew that day was different the very moment she was roused from her slumber by a warm, calloused hand shaking her shoulder. Her eyes were sore when she opened them, the dullness of her bedroom a navy-grey tinted blur. A groan escaped her lips, and she was tempted to shove the sharp edge of elbow into the body next to her.

There was a raspy whisper in her ear, “Hey, woman, what’re you doing? You gotta go make breakfast.”

It took her a few moments to realise that Šćepan had, for once, woken up before her. What was wrong with her? Her mind and body both felt too exhausted to find the answer to that question. Noting the stabbing pain in her forehead, she clenched her eyes shut again with a grunt. Though some guilt followed, her reply was slurred, partly into her pillow, “Ugh. Go make your own breakfast.”

Šćepan’s form was very still. She knew him well enough that he wouldn’t have been affected by her words much. Even so, there was a certain patheticness she felt for him letting her know she wasn’t up and about already. Below the duvet, his hand slid down her arm, and across the curves of her hip and stomach, then ran back up the front of her camisole. His nose nudged into the hair behind her ear, he shifted his weight until it was almost upon her. She didn’t think much of it - usually, she would have to pry his sleeping form off her so that she could get up.

But with his breath hot against her skin, he mumbled, fingers cupping and squeezing her  breast. “Maybe I should have _you_ for breakfast.”

Tatjana shuddered… Though, in spite of her headache, the offer _was_ tempting. Not that it was much of an offer to begin with. It was more of an order. But she didn’t mind that kind of order; being told to go make breakfast was a different matter.

He didn’t await a verbal response, and began to tug the camisole up first, over her head and along the length of her arms, leaving her to shake it off herself. Feeling back down her stomach, he tugged on the waistband of her underwear, waiting for her to wriggle out of that as well, which wasn’t easy with the weight of the sheets above them. She sighed, “Lazy. You can’t even do this yourself.”

“Hrnh?” Head resting on her shoulder, he moved his hand between her legs. She first tensed at the intrusion, relaxing a moment later when he’d slipped a thick finger into her. Speaking lowly, he pointed out, “Last time I did it, you got mad that I tore them.”

Which was true enough. She huffed, whilst biting her lip a little and grumbling, “You’re hopeless…”

Heat spread across her lower limbs. After a while of nudging the first around, Šćepan pressed in a second finger and as she whimpered in response, she felt his lips spreading into a smirk against the exposed skin of her neck. In time with the rhythm of his hand, her hips rocked back and forth… And forth and back and back and forth, as minutes passed like seconds. She wasn’t really sure how much time had gone by when she was quivering, writhing against him and mewling into the pillow. By then, her headache had settled.

Once he’d removed his hand he pressed down on her shoulder, and clambered atop her, his figure dark and looming and heavy. Whilst Tatjana wasn’t by definition tiny or frail, him doing so had - in the past - worried her. Even when not at his strongest, an Alpha was dangerous. She knew that well; she had experienced it firsthand more than most ordinary humans would ever even hear about. But for all his flaws and idiocy, Šćepan had never purposefully hurt her, and that sinking sensation in her stomach of not knowing what he might or might not do never came any more. In fact, in the poor lighting and her still-not-quite-awakened state, he looked less intimidating and more… Comforting, than anything.

There was a shuffling as he lowered the waistline of his boxers and then raised her hips with a firm grasp at either side. He entered her as far as he could go, and whilst there was a little pain, it subsided when he started moving with the same rhythm as his hand before. She’d become so used to him that it wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, but rather, one of fullness - yet, the fact that he couldn’t fit inside all the way was a consistent reminder their bodies weren’t made for each others’. He’d never been able to get the knot in, though she wasn’t sure she wanted him to in the first place.

He rested his forehead on the pillow next to her and she buried her face into the side of his neck, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing herself as close as possible into the swelling of his muscles. Though she couldn’t scent him properly as an Omega would, she could pick up on a certain heady note his skin carried regardless. That scent was warmth and familiarity and _home_ to her. She wished she could live in those very moments - when they were holding each other, and she could forget her troubles so easily, and forget that he’d ever made her mad or upset because not a day went by when he wouldn’t do or say something that’d push her to the point of wanting to bash his head in - for the rest of her days.

Like most times, he slowed down and drew out before reaching his climax; teeth grit and breath hitching, he released between them, upon her hips and breasts and stomach, and the sheets.

She kissed his parted lips, and urged him to shift back to lay on his side. Palming sweaty fingers through the tips of his hair, she watched his eyelids start to droop the instant he reclined again. His knot and cum would persist for at least a quarter of an hour, so she didn’t pass judgement on his sudden onset exhaustion, this time.

Before she pushed back her covers, she whispered in his ear, not minding if he’d already gone back to sleep and couldn’t hear, “I love you.”

She washed up in the bathroom, and returned to the bedroom briefly afterwards to dress, without disturbing his slumbering form. On his nightstand, there was a bottle of water, and she poured a glass full and left it out for him, before she made her way downstairs.

Only when she did so did Tatjana notice that she was still feeling a little on the sluggish side, herself. Though the gloomy winter’s grey hadn’t cleared, the sky was brighter than it usually was when she got up. She winced a bit at the thought that it might not even have been breakfast time any more. But when she reached the kitchen and caught sight of the wall clock, her fears were alleviated a bit: it had only just turned nine.

At that time of the morning it wasn’t unusual for her to be alone in the house. If Šćepan was in one of his less lazy moods, or was forced into it, he’d be out doing odd jobs, and if Vuk was around, he’d be doing the same - most of the time he was the one dragging Šćepan along with him to the new builds or wherever for an extra pair of hands. Ilir _should_ have been at school, though now she knew for sure that wasn’t the case and he was being helpful elsewhere, she minded less that he’d been playing truant under her nose. However, she found the kitchen occupied when she walked in.

The room smelled of toasted bread - probably the last dregs of what they’d had with dinner the night before, reheated. Vuk was seated at the table, eating in silence. He glanced her way; his mouth full, he didn’t speak. He looked unimpressed, and it took her a short while of examining his face to realise why; she recalled they’d argued over Ilir the evening before. Breaking their eye contact, she walked past the table, unsure of what she was supposed to be feeling. Guilt, for what she’d said to him, or aggravation for what he’d said to her?

“Hey.” He said, voice abrupt against the quietness, still half-chewing his piece of bread. “Is Sergio still around?”

Her form had gone very still at the sudden words, but she settled once she realised he wasn’t bringing the day before up. “Sergio?” She peered at him over her shoulder, whilst jogging her brain for the person he was speaking of. The only Sergio she knew of was a young Omega that crafted and modified certain weapons for the stronghold’s use. “Mm, yeah, he’s still in that place around the corner from the main hall. Why?”

Vuk made a short nodding motion in acknowledgement. “Gonna ask him to make something for me.”

Busying herself with browsing the (rather bare) cupboards in hopes she might find something for breakfast, Tatjana wondered to herself what it was that Vuk was going to commission from Sergio. Something he didn’t already have, perhaps - so it was likely not a survival knife, since he owned one of those himself, and since seemed rather fond of it, replacing it wasn’t likely either. Maybe he wanted a personal firearm as well, but that didn’t seem very practical. Before she thought to actually ask him, she realised: “Oh, is that why you’re not at work today?”

He reached for another chunk of toast. “Yeah, well, I needed a day off anyway. That trip from The North drained the hell outta me. I can’t seem to function right on the site.”

She did sympathise - from what she knew, he _had_ pushed through part of that journey whilst at the end of his rut. Though, with the previous evening still in her mind, it lead her to ponder aloud, “Samuil must be fine, if he went off with Ilir already.”

Clearly, she had touched a nerve with that, but she didn’t notice it was so until she looked upon his scowling face again.

Grunting, Vuk tore the toast in half down the middle, “Omegas store energy better. Besides that, what’s he gonna fucking do all day? Sit in Adnan’s warehouse and let the crippled in the factory district tell him their life stories?” Twisting his face up, he lowered his gaze. “Weird guy. Wonder if he’ll even come back tonight. Adnan might not even be enough to get rid of the traffickers.”

Distinct spite was in his voice, and Tatjana didn’t like it one bit. She responded with the same disapproval she’d had in her during their previous argument, “Oh, stop talking like that! He’s just trying to help Ilir, isn’t he? Why do you have to be such a damned cynic all the time?” She huffed. Whilst she did want to defend Samuil - who had been partially in her care for a brief time, during her years in the Women’s Corps - her irritation with Vuk wasn’t a new thing… She couldn’t have even called it irritation, herself. Rather, she was upset.

That Tatjana had known Vuk for much longer than she had known Šćepan was not a fact that was well-known. In fact, many of their friends around the stronghold didn’t have much of an idea, simply because it wasn’t a topic of conversation that came up often. The likelihood was that people assumed Tatjana had met Vuk through meeting her husband, but the very opposite was true.

 

*

 

“Cadet Janeska, please raise your hand.”

The same request had been made to all the cadets before her. There was a dozen of them, all roughly of the same age, seated upon a row of benches at the edge of a large, tall-ceilinged hall. Any impact noise made or loud word spoken in that rectangle-shaped hall would bounce and echo off the stark white walls. It was impossible not to be seen or heard in there. It made Tatjana feel more vulnerable than she already did in that situation - if it were possible.

Lifting her hand as per the request, she briefly made eye contact with the instructor - a harsh-looking Women’s Corps member that they were to address by her title. Tatjana had never seen such women before she had signed up - in fact, she had only ever really been around her mother and her aunt, and they were nothing like the instructor, or any of the other members of the Women’s Corps she’d seen. Would Tatjana grow up to be straight-laced and disciplined now she was there? That thought made her regret her choice almost more than the pain of the sterilization procedure had.

The instructor’s beady eyes glanced down at the computerised notepad in her hand. “Cadet Janeska, your partner for the session will be…” Her voice trailed off, and only then did her face change from a stony expression to a startled one. Eyebrows knitted together, she tapped a few times on her screen, speaking lowly beneath her breath, “No, that can’t be right. There must have been a mistake.”

A few yards behind the instructor stood the only man present - one of the official aides to those higher ranked in the system. Whilst Tatjana didn’t care who he was or what purpose he served, she looked to him when the instructor did a moment later, awaiting the answer to her question.

“You there!” The instructor’s choice of language indicated she was of a higher rank than the aide, and he did look quite terrified when she shot him a glower. “Why is the devil incarnate on this roster?”

The aide coughed. “N-Not my decision, Ma’am.”

Clenching her teeth, the instructor ordered in a laboured and condescending tone, “Well then _go and find me who’s decision it is_!”

Every cadet seated on the benches was tense and silent. The aide swiftly jogged out of the hall, and having collected herself in the next moment, the instructor moved on with her list, “Cadet Leone, please raise your hand.”

_What was all that about?_ Tatjana was left wondering that. She zoned out as the rest of the names from the list were read, and their respective partners given by number and name. _The devil incarnate_ … She might have thought the instructor was exaggerating, were she not well aware of what that session was all about. There was dread in her stomach, and her palms felt clammy all of a sudden.

Once the list was cleared, the instructor waited until the aide had fetched the person in charge: another man, possibly an Alpha or Omega this time, but Tatjana had no clue. The second he entered the hall, the instructor took large strides across to him, jabbing a finger at her notepad.

“What is the meaning of this!?” She exclaimed. “Are you trying to get the cadets killed!?”

The man raised his eyebrow at her and replied calmly, but with equal amounts of curtness, “Not at all. You realise this session is supposed to be mutually beneficial to both your cadets and the young Alphas, don’t you?”

“This isn’t mutually beneficial - this is madness!” The instructor looked ready to throw the notepad, either across the room or straight at the man. “I refuse to let that… _Thing_ anywhere near these cadets!” She spat the word ‘thing’ as if it were a foul-tasting poison.

Why was she talking about an Alpha in such a manner? There wasn’t any way Tatjana would know, not until the time came - and now she was wishing it wouldn’t. Thankfully the instructor seemed to be holding her ground. Perhaps Tatjana wouldn’t have to be paired with the so-called ‘devil incarnate’ after all.

Looking down his nose at the instructor, the man snorted, as if her words were some kind of half-hearted joke to him. “We can’t change the roster now. Besides, we’ve already considered the safety risks of this session as a whole. Support is on hand in case things get out of control. Now, unless you’d like for a report on your refusal to participate to be sent to the supervisor, I suggest that you allow everything to go ahead as planned.”

The instructor said nothing more, though her face was far from an appeased one. The worry in Tatjana’s stomach swelled, and she felt as if her spine had been replaced with a steel rod for the rest of the wait prior to the session.

_It’s okay… It’s probably nothing, really!_ She told herself, over and over, in a bid to calm her nerves, but it was to no avail. As part of their cadet training, they were to learn how to take down an unruly Alpha - and the only way to practise this properly was to attempt to do so on an actual Alpha… And by the sounds of it, Tatjana had been assigned the worst possible match as her partner. _Who am I kidding? He’s probably twenty foot tall and spits fire and is gonna crush me like a bug under his thumb._ If there was one thing she did know at that point, it was that getting on her knees and praying was entirely inappropriate in that situation.

It wasn’t long before the time came. Twelve young men of varying heights and ages - though, most of them appeared to still be boys - filed into the room, escorted by officials. Unlike the officials, the instructor and even the cadets, they were not dressed in any uniform. They wore plain t-shirts and black gym pants. As the cadets had previously been informed, the t-shirts were mandatory and displayed their sort code on the sleeve. Tatjana would have almost felt a little bad for them, were she not so concerned that the ‘thing’ was going to beat her into a pulp... They kind of looked like prisoners.

She looked each of them over quickly. None of them appeared to be all that scary just from appearances. They didn’t look too extraordinary at all… In fact, they didn’t seem that different from the young labourers that worked on her father’s farm - just regular boys.

One by one, each cadet was pointed in the direction of her partner. Even though she had calmed down upon actually seeing the Alphas, Tatjana still found she was a little shaky when she rose from her seat.

As another cadet passed her by, she felt the angle of an elbow nudge into her arm. “Aim for the groin.” The girl, whose name she wasn’t certain of, whispered. “Works on any guy, I promise you.” She moved ahead with speed before the instructor could catch sight of them.

_What’s that mean?_ Tatjana wanted to ask aloud. She didn’t know what a groin was… Was she supposed to? She had been homeschooled before coming to the capital and her mother had never told her the body parts, particularly not those belonging to a man. The horror she’d experienced learning what Alphas and Omegas actually were when she’d first signed up for the Women’s Corps came crashing back down upon her… She bit the inside of her lip, still a little disjointed from reality from what the other cadet had just said to her. _What have I gotten myself into?_ She wished she was back at home… Back in her nice warm bed at the farmhouse. And she’d never have had that sudden streak of independence and she’d never have gone to the capital to enlist and she wouldn’t have had that terrible operation where her tubes had been tied and _everything would have been fine_.

“Hey. Hey! _Heyheyhey_!” A sharp voice cut through her thoughts and all of a sudden there was a hand waved in front of her face, its fingers snapping. “There’s only you and me left, so I guess we’re-- _Hey!!_ Eyes over here, lady.”

Her gaze panned over to where the fingers were now motioning, and only then did she realise she had spaced out, becoming absorbed in her own train of thoughts. Her jaw was still lax and her eyes still widened and unfocused when she looked upon the person who was talking. Blinking, she made a dull reply, “...Huh?”

The boy was shorter than she was, the top of his head only reaching her nose. He must have been younger, but not by a lot. He had brown hair and a lopsided smirk - and amber eyes that reminded her of her farmhouse's shaded fireplace - but when Tatjana returned to Earth, she took a few quick glances around instead of focusing on his face. Indeed, the rest of the cadets were paired off and were spreading around the room under the guide of the instructor.

When she looked back in the boy’s direction again, he had started to move past her, “C’mon, you gonna help me get one of those foam mat things, or what?” Though he spoke with abruptness, there was also some causality in both his voice and the way he carried himself, chin raised and hands folded behind his head. He didn’t turn back towards her to continue speaking, “I don’t wanna shatter _every_ bone in your body when I take you down.”

Not knowing what to think or say to that, Tatjana almost froze on the spot. Was this the ‘devil incarnate’, then, that the instructor had spoken of? He didn’t seem quite as bad as she’d pictured - until he’d mentioned breaking some (but not all) of her bones.

In what might have been a stroke of luck for her, a nearby official that had guided the Alphas in heard the comment. “Refrain from speaking to the cadets in such a manner. Otherwise you will be removed from the session. And if I remember rightly, you’re one strike away from a week’s isolation.”

Not appreciating that comment, the boy lowered his hands with a grumble. He dragged one of the foam mats from the edge of the hall back across to where Tatjana was stood, with little effort in doing so. When he had dropped the mat, he eyed her again. “You wanna stay here? We’ve got enough room.” He kicked the mat into a more straightened position with the edge of his foot. Once he was satisfied with that, he snickered, “You probably haven’t been training as long as I have, so I’ll let you take the first shot.”

He began to stretch his arms and crack his neck. Tatjana didn’t know if she should have done the same, and again began to look around at the other pairs for some kind of inkling of what to do. The bone-breaking comment was at the forefront of her mind, as were the comments the instructor had made; she was providing advice to a cadet on the opposite side of the hall, though she did take a precautionary glance in their direction every so often. The only thing that made Tatjana feel slightly more at ease was that there were still one or two officials keeping their eyes on the boy, but on the whole it didn’t help much. She shifted the weight between her feet, waiting for him to finish his warm-ups.

Sitting himself down on the mat so that he could stretch his calf muscles, rolling his ankles a little afterwards, the young Alpha frowned up at her. “Not much of a talker, are you? _Can_ you even talk?”

Tatjana coughed a bit, and watched as the officials began to shift their attention elsewhere for the time being. She’d had a few hand-to-hand combat classes upon enlisting - and rigorous ones at that - but somehow she’d managed to forget half of what she’d learnt in that moment. “What’s… Um...” She began, her voice quiet and her arms crossed in a somewhat protective position across her chest. “Wh-What’s a groin?”

He sprung straight back to his feet. “Eh? What’s that? I didn’t hear you.”

She motioned with her head towards the cadet who had passed her earlier. “Th-That girl over there told me I should aim for the groin. Um… So, where do I aim?”

For a couple of seconds after hearing that, the boy gave her an incredulous look. Then, he wheezed, and let out a piercing laugh that shook across the hall. “ _Are you for real_!?” He cackled, sucking in a couple of breaths before he reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “ _Hah!_ Dammit, lady, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week!”

Grimacing, Tatjana felt her face burning up. Did he think she was cracking a joke? She wished she’d never said anything. Puffing her cheeks out a bit, she attempted to be more upfront with him, “I-It’s Tatjana, not ‘lady’.”

“Oh yeah? You can call me Vuk.” The boy grinned and gave her one final, hard slap on the shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but she was sure that were it on her back, it would have knocked quite a bit of wind out of her. “Now you’ll remember me, for when I come back from The South a war hero, huh? You’ll be able to tell your friends, ‘Hey, I fought that guy and got my ass beat by him when I was still a cadet!’” He put on a fake high-pitched voice, as if to poorly imitate hers.

Obnoxious as he was, she found it difficult to keep up her concerns after that. For some reason, though she fought it for a moment, she couldn’t help but smile at that. Then the smile turned to a giggle that she attempted to hide with the palm of her hand.

“Hey, that’s what I like to see! Start looking alive like that, would you? Or you’re gonna end up putting me to sleep.” Hopping backwards on the mat, he ducked his head a bit, raising his clenched fists out in front of him in a defensive position. “C’mon, hit me with your best shot!”

At that point, Tatjana almost didn’t want to even attempt to hit him. But that would have defeated the point of the exercise. Preparing a fist of her own, she bounced forwards on the balls of her feet and aimed a jab at his exposed middle. Landing a punch on an Alpha would ideally stun him if there was no other way of doing so. It didn’t.

Before she could even get close he snatched her wrist, twisting it and pulling it behind her back. She had expected some kind of retaliation, but what he did made her heart stop and then lurch into her throat. He forced her around with the arm, and grabbed the other to immobilise her completely. He pressed his weight against her back, chin propped on her shoulder. She hissed a bit, wincing both from annoyance and the fact that his grip did hurt (though, thankfully he didn’t seem to be using his whole strength; rather, he’d used her weight distribution against her).

Vuk whistled loudly in her ear. “That’s it? And you think you’ve got what it takes to be in the Women’s Corps, huh?”

She sucked in a deep breath, her pulse racing and a bead of sweat dripping from her forehead. There was no way she could move, was there…? Not unless she could use her feet. But he had thought of that a split second before she had - hooking his foot around her ankle and knocking her off balance. She yelped, panicking especially as she was unable to extend her arms to cushion her blow. Eyes clenched shut, she awaited the impact.

Instead, for a short time, her upper body was suspended in mid-air. With caution, she cracked a single eyelid open, swallowing down the startled sensation in her throat. Holding onto her extended arms and preventing her from falling all the way, Vuk towered over her with the same conceited look as before. And then he let go, and she dropped down the few inches that remained between her and the mat.

“Oof…” Despite the fact that she’d had no chance of winning, the panic that had set in before her fall began to shift into a more exhilarating feeling. That hadn’t been so terrible. In fact, she had found it kind of fun. She pushed herself into a seated position with her forearms, sighing out a breath. “You’re so fast, it’s just not fair!”

Snickering, Vuk squatted down to her level. “You gotta work on your reflexes. I gave you a free opening, but you didn’t take it. You could’ve stepped on my foot, or kicked me in the shin, or even headbutted me.”

He was right. And she’d known - she just hadn’t thought of it quick enough. An exhale of frustration left her parted lips and she lowered her head a bit. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not cut out for the Women’s Corps.”

“What, you’re throwing in the towel just ‘cause of that?” Resting his arms on his kneecaps, he asked, “Why’d you even sign up if you can’t handle this sorta thing?”

She shook her head a bit, wondering that as well. “I grew up on a farm south of here, so my home life was pretty cooped up and isolated. I wanted to go do something for myself in the capital. But I wasn’t sure what else I could do, except sign up.” Though she chuckled then, there was bitterness in it, “I figured if I stayed home, I’d probably have to marry one of my Dad’s workers and I’d never get to see the outside world ‘cause I’d be stuck on the farm forever.” It was a strange thing to confide in a guy she’d only just met about, particularly one she’d had such negative assumptions about earlier, but somehow it didn’t feel all that weird.

Furrowing his brow a bit, Vuk looked pensive. “Hrm. I guess you’re pretty lucky, then, since you ended up getting your freedom.”

Tatjana thought his words over for a little while, hoping she’d understood what he’d meant by them. The Alphas and Omegas of the program had not only their jobs but, once they reached the age of maturity, their partners, assigned to them. What was more, if they weren’t dispatched anywhere, they were confined to the HQ building. With that in mind, she felt a little bad for having mentioned her situation.

She attempted to shift the topic, “Umm… So, reflexes?”

He eyed her from beneath his fringe. “Yeah, what about ‘em?”

Noticing that in his squatting position, he was balancing his whole weight on his toes, she extended a hand, pushing on his shoulder. With a look of genuine surprise he toppled backwards, landing on his rear.

“Like that?” She feigned a smile.

Unimpressed, he began to rise to his feet. “ _Ugh_. Not really. That’s just a dick move. C’mon, get up, I’ll show you what I mean.”

By the time the session was over, Tatjana had learnt many things that involved centering her weight and using it to flip someone over, what to do if someone had a knife at her throat and how to correctly prod an assailant in both eyes. But she never learnt what it was that had gotten Vuk the supposed title of ‘devil incarnate’. Nor did she see him again for a long time afterwards.

 

*

 

But she did hear news of him, a few months later. It had started as an average day, though she was still getting used to her commitments. She’d taken a morning class on gun safety use, and had headed to the cafeteria of the Corps’ quarters for lunch afterwards. At that time, she was a level two cadet, soon to progress to her third level - and then, the level threes would proceed to be fully fledged members.

She had, in fact, forgotten completely that the level threes had been assigned their packs for the following year that very day. It wasn’t until she’d followed a couple of young but ranked officers into the lunch line.

“Did you hear? Flora got assigned to the Alpha pack containing Mišić.” The first of them said.

Her companion seemed puzzled. “Who’s Flora?”

“Don’t you remember, you dolt? She’s that blonde cadet girl we mentored in target practise last month.”

“Oh, the one who couldn’t aim for shit? Maybe she’ll be better at caretaking.”

“Did you even hear what I just said? She’s got the pack with _Mišić_ in it.” She put emphasis on the name. “She’s gonna get eaten alive.”

The second officer drummed her fingers on her dinner plate. “Oh. Who’s Mišić?”

“You don’t know?” The first one sounded more than a little surprised. “He’s that demonic Alpha kid that ripped an official’s arm off a couple of years back. Like straight outta the socket, ripped the skin and ligaments clean off, the whole works. Even if most Alphas can do that kinda stuff, this one’s ruts are crazy dangerous apparently. He doesn’t have much self-control during them. And he’s not so great to deal with even in ordinary circumstances. So I hear, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah, I did hear of a kid like that, but under a different name.”

“Mišić is his surname. You probably heard him referred to as ‘Vuk’.”

_Haven’t I heard that name somewhere before…?_ Tatjana thought to herself. As the two officers handed their plates over to the cafeteria workers, she gave it a quick think. And then it hit her. She recalled the training session and their sparring and the way he’d caught her before she could fall - but also the words the instructor had used… ‘The devil incarnate’, ‘ _that thing_ ’... She’d forgotten all about those names. _It’s not really the same guy, is it?_ Had those same hands that had held her arms and stopped her from falling been used to… Dismember someone?

All of a sudden, she didn’t feel like eating any more.

 

*

 

When news of her mother’s death had reached the HQ building, Tatjana was granted a period of leave, in spite of the fact she was still a couple of weeks away from advancing from her cadet status.

But she didn’t take said leave. She knew that if she went home, back to the farm, then the death of her mother wouldn’t be a tale from the southern edges of Utopia, but a reality. She didn’t want to go back… But at the very same time, she did. She felt anguish and confusion and anger and hopelessness all at once. And then there was guilt: _If I had never left, maybe she’d still be alive now._ In reality her mother had died of a sickness beyond anyone’s control, but she couldn’t help but think, over and over, _what if_?

Too exhausted to carry her duties out, but too saddened to make her way back home also, Tatjana holed herself up in the most remote corner of the HQ building she could find. She shared a dorm with others, and so whilst that may have been more comfortable, she wanted to be alone. All the other cadets and the like could offer was condolences, ones she appreciated but quickly tired of.

At some point, whilst she was still curled up with her knees to her chin in the empty yet somehow comforting darkness of the corridor, she had stopped crying. She didn’t know when, or even what time it was… That part of the building seemed so completely cut off from the rest. It was possibly even a restricted area and she wasn’t supposed to be there, but her wanting to be alone had overridden that risk.

It wasn’t physically blocked off, however. To get there, she’d taken the shadowed passageways to the left of the barracks and passed the warehouse and cleared a couple of corners. She hoped that when she decided she wanted to make her way back, it wouldn’t be too much of a problem… The idea that she might have somehow gotten herself lost in there caused another tear to roll down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand and pulled herself to her feet. Whether or not she wanted to, she had to make an attempt to head back, because staying there and wallowing in her own self-pity, she decided, wasn’t going to help her. _They’ll probably send someone looking for me if I don’t go back soon, anyway._ And getting found in what may well have been a restricted area wasn’t the best of ideas.

Dragging herself down the corridor, her feet heavy and her eyes barely able to make anything out in the darkness, the path she took lead her to an area lit by a single flickering overhead lamp. At first she assumed this light was the way back to the barracks, but she was quick to find there was a dead end up ahead. Stranger still, the corridor split off into three rooms at either side. Whilst these rooms didn’t have a front wall, or a doorway of any kind, the last room on her left was blocked off by a translucent barrier. Each of the rooms she could see into had a bed and a toilet near their far walls, but no window or other source of light, other than that of the hanging lamp. She realised a moment later where the snaking corridor had brought her: to the Isolation unit. Those rooms were for holding cells for disruptive or unruly Alphas and - occasionally - Omegas.

She hadn’t expected it to appear so… Grim. The walls weren’t stark white and clean like she was used to seeing around the rest of the building, they were reinforced with a rusting steel and the scent of damp to match. Whenever the hanging lamp flickered, it made a grating buzzing noise.

The barrier meant that the last cell was occupied. If there was anyone coming to check on whoever was in there, then there was a chance she’d get herself caught. She needed to leave, and so began to do so with more strength in her footsteps when she heard a voice that made her freeze up.

“Who’s there?” It croaked, from behind the barrier.

A shiver ran down her spine, but it wasn’t from the coldness of her surroundings. “N-No one.” Was she even allowed to dignify someone in isolation a reply? She was ready to dart out of there as soon as her legs would move.

“Wait, _please_.” A brief shuffling noise followed the quick words. “You’re... From the Women’s Corps… Right? Y-You gotta help me--”

_Help you?_ Tatjana, for a moment, accepted readily. But then she remembered where she was, and who or what could have been behind that barrier - and that getting out of there was her priority. She couldn’t imagine the trouble she’d get into if she helped the person back there.

He tried to speak again, but let out a wheezing, spluttering cough instead. “ _Please_ , I need--” After another couple of hacks he strained his words out pathetically, sounding almost like her father did after a few cigars, “Th-They haven’t… I haven’t eaten in s-six days…”

She willed her feet to move but they just wouldn’t. Guilt hung too heavy in her heart. Six days… For what purpose were they starving him? She couldn’t let herself meddle in the discipline of Alphas and Omegas, not as a cadet. Her eyes felt hot; she did her absolute best to restrain any more tears.

“Wh-What is it you want me to do?” She stammered, her hand slipping into the pocket of her uniform pants; she remembered she’d stowed a small wrapped packet of biscuits in there earlier. Mustering a braver tone she told him, “I’m just a cadet. I wandered here by accident. I can’t help you.”

“Please. You gotta. _Please_.” His voice began to crack. “Go get someone. A-Anyone. I-If I don’t eat something soon I’m gonna…”

Tatjana twisted her head to look at the darkened depths of the way back down the corridor. There was no movement. Perhaps if she was quick, then she could get the biscuits through to him. And nothing more. Then she _really_ had to leave. There was a small keypad on the wall next to the threshold where the barrier began. The way HQ’s barriers worked, only those with permission to pass would be allowed through; they would be routed to the main databank to confine or exclude specific individuals. But it was also possible the barrier would allow anyone with Corps status to pass. She pressed a shaky hand up to it; unfortunately, it repelled her.

Unsure if it was excluding all Corps members or just cadets, she turned her attention back to the keypad, examining it as she chewed on her bottom lip. She had never attempted to change a barrier’s settings before - it wasn’t something covered in her training. Surely there would be a password or something. What if she made a mistake… Would the higher-ups be alerted?

Much to her relief, it was a simple enough procedure to reconfigure the barrier, but it took her some time, as not only was her hand unsteady, she constantly made herself check over her shoulder to see if anyone was coming. With every push of the keypad’s buttons she anticipated the triggering of some kind of alarm, but nothing but the _beep beep beep_ of each input’s acknowledgement could be heard.

“What… What’re you doing?” The voice, still on the hoarse side, asked.

Tatjana didn’t answer until the keypad’s display read to her: **[WOMCORP: ALLOW - ALL MEMB]**. Then, lowering her hand, she sucked in a breath to attempt to calm down. “I’m coming in, okay?”

No reply came. Following one last check over her shoulder, she lifted her hand to the barrier to test its solidity again. This time, it passed through without hindrance, and so, she took a large stride and crossed it.

The first thing her eyes - trained forward - saw was a pair of amber ones staring back. The jittery light from the corridor shone in them like candle flames, and they belonged to a young, yet sallow and sunken face that she could have sworn she recognised from somewhere. He was close to the threshold, sat on the floor at the end of the bed with his legs sprawled and shoulders slumped, like a ragdoll that had been tossed aside.

She didn’t want to stick around long. Not only was there a chance someone could find her, there must have been a reason he was in isolation. Even if he didn’t look like he could cause her any harm at all. There was caution, and destitute, and - perhaps - fear upon his face. His hair was out of place, his clothes crumpled and creased. Nothing about him suggested she had anything to feel for him but pity - so she told herself.

Averting her eyes so she could be relieved of the sorry sight, even temporarily, she lowered her head and reached into her pocket again. But her attention was brought straight back when he spoke a second later.

“Tatjana?”

Her lips parted a little as she eyed his face again. _How does he know my name?_ The familiarity of him nagged at her. A single word came to mind: reflexes.

She sucked in a breath. “You’re… That Alpha I met at the training session, aren’t you?”

The corners of his mouth stretched, as if he were about to smile, but instead he looked dejected, and he lowered his head. “You don’t even remember my name.” He mumbled.

A lot had happened. She’d met a lot of people in her time as a cadet, many different faces and names. Nor was her mind in the right place. What little sense was left in her after the grief had left her numb she was using to tell herself; _You really shouldn’t be here_.

She pulled the biscuits out and (with some difficulty) tore the plastic wrapping off. “I’m sorry, they’re not much.” Offering the biscuits with one hand, she stuffed the packaging back into her pocket.

Before she could tell him not to eat them all at once, or to ration them, he had lunged forwards and snatched them from her hand, eyes widened and alight. The sudden movement (remarkable, for someone in a weakened state such as his) startled her, and as he backed off to the end of the bed again, she too recoiled in caution.

“I-I have to go.” She stammered, her heart in her throat - and she departed the room, back through the barrier. Quickening her footsteps, she carried herself out of the corridor and back into the darkened tunnels beyond.

It was only later that day - when her mind, though it had occupied itself with thoughts of her mother once again, drifted back to the boy - that she remembered his name. For all her efforts, for putting herself at risk to help him, she couldn’t help but feel guilt solely for having forgotten.

 

*

 

She never took the leave of compassion granted to her for her mother’s death. And so, it was straight back to work. And the days leading up to her graduation were filled with work. Work that left her with no time or energy for her own thoughts.

It was only when she was passing by the barracks one morning, tasked with opening a few supply crates that had just arrived there, that any thoughts - brief as they were - of the Isolation unit returned.

“Sophia?” She addressed the ranked officer she was accompanying. “You know that, um… Unlit corridor, down there?”

Sophia’s head twisted in the direction of the corridor in question. Then, she looked at Tatjana with an eyebrow raised, “What about it?”

Now that she had brought it up, Tatjana realised she’d been speaking without thinking properly. She shuffled her feet a bit, though she still had to walk as Sophia showed no sign of stopping. “It’s the Isolation unit, right?”

“Yeah.” Was the matter-of-fact reply.

Tatjana wasn’t very familiar with Sophia, but she didn’t seem like the kind to just brush her off, in spite of her abruptness (though many Corps members did have that inclination). So, with slowness and a lowered voice, she asked, “What, um. What actually happens there?”

“Isolation.” Was Sophia’s reply. Then, she snorted. “Oh, you mean what _actually_ happens? It’s where they ‘correct’ Alphas and Omegas that’re ‘faulty’. Pretty screwed if you ask me, but what can you do about it.”

Whilst Tatjana had an inkling that the reason was something along those lines, the way Sophia described it unsettled her. She swallowed the small lump that formed in her throat. “Do they... Starve them?”

“Can’t say I know. If they do, it’s probably part of the whole behaviourism treatment.” Sophia lifted her shoulders a bit. “Weirdly specific thing to ask though, Cadet. What gives?”

Thinking on her feet was one of the things that Tatjana was the worst at. She cringed inwardly. “Oh… Umm... I heard someone talking about it the other day, so I was kinda curious.”

To her surprise, Sophia seemed to buy her lie, and asked, “Was it ‘cause of, er… Whats’ername?” She folded her arms and looked pensive. “She was in the cadet set before yours. Wanda…? No, wait, I think it was Wendy...”

With no clue as to what she was talking about, Tatjana made a singular “Huh?” noise.

“Ah, whatever her name was.” Sophia gave her hand a dismissive wave. “Yeah, the officials found her tampering with one of the barriers in the unit. There was an Alpha behind the barrier at the time, too. She wanted to actually free the guy and let him run rampant, so she said. Turns out she was some kinda rebel activist in disguise and she joined the Corps so she could cause HQ problems. Hell knows where she is now. The higher-ups’ve all been pretty hush-hush on it, though, so don’t go spreading stuff around, even what you’ve gotten wind of already, ya hear?”

Nodding in response, Tatjana didn’t know what to say to that. She felt lucky, and in turn, awful for feeling lucky. It didn’t click at first, but when it did, the horror of her sudden realisation was almost overwhelming.

The likelihood was that the rebel had tampered with the same barrier she had… The same barrier that she had been in such a hurry to get back out of she had forgotten to reset. If the rebel hadn’t been found out, or hadn’t tampered with the barrier at all, would there have been suspicions raised because of what Tatjana had done? What if someone had seen her leaving those corridors and put two and two together. She dreaded to think…

“You’ve gone kinda pale. What’s the deal?” Sophia’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“O-Oh, it’s uh... N-Nothing. Just kind of a… Scary prospect, y’know? An isolated Alpha going nuts around here…” Tatjana coughed a bit as she pushed her sweating hands into her pockets.

Sophia laughed coolly, “Don’t act so soft, or you’ll never get an officer’s rank.”

 

*

 

But Tatjana did get an officer’s rank, less than a week after her conversation with Sophia. For the first real year of her career, she was assigned to a pack of Omegas, and aided an older member of the Corps with their care. But once that year was over, she was given a choice: join the efforts of the war in The South, or police the streets of Utopia.

She spent four years carrying out the latter.

It was neither the easiest job in the world, nor the most pleasant, not by a long shot, but it was where Tatjana found the sense of independence she’d been looking for when she’d left her life on the farm behind. It wasn’t laborious, like the general chores she’d been made to do around the HQ building in her days as a cadet, but it _was_ difficult. Despite this, she found it exhilarating. That was what drove her to stay - otherwise, she may well have considered the turmoil of The South.

A lot of time had passed. Many things had happened, and she had largely forgotten about the young Alpha in the Isolation unit. Then, one Autumnal night, everything came crashing back.

Her birthday had been the week before. She was now twenty, though her age had little relevance to her position: what mattered was her five years in service, four of which she’d spent patrolling the streets. HQ had wanted a small handful of veterans dispatched on an emergency callout, and she was one of them.

Everything had seemed normal - as normal as possible - to begin with. Reports of gang violence in the factory district had been flying around all evening, which at first, HQ had largely ignored, under the assumption the Corps members already on patrol there would get it under control. But things had worsened since.

“Hey - Tatjana?” A voice came through the headset within her helmet, fuzzy and crackled. “These thugs’re from the Eastern States, right? Same as you, right?”

Head lowered, her focus was on the road ahead. There were only so many distractions one could allow themselves when driving a motorcycle - Tatjana had almost learnt that the (very) hard way a few times. At first she wasn’t sure which member of the team was talking to her, as their voice was too distorted, and her attention was mostly taken. Before she could reply, someone else pitched in.

“You calling her a thug, Helen?”

“Just making an observation.”

Unsure of whether or not she was supposed to feel offended, as though they had worked together a few times before she wasn’t familiar enough with Helen to know the intentions of her words, Tatjana spoke up, “My parents were from there.”

Helen pressed, “Why’d they come here?”

“To run a farm. Dad said agriculture was managed better here.” Though, Tatjana wasn’t sure how much of her father’s words she actually believed.

There was a snort across the line. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“Be quiet, Helen.” Tatjana felt a vibration on her back as this was said, and so the raspy effect of the line meant she was still able to tell that Irene, the officer she was sharing her bike with, was speaking. That, and a commanding tone came with it. Irene was technically leading their mission, but whether the others would follow her every command was up in the air. Veterans, Tatjana had found, would often let their pride get in the way of success.

The lights of the centre whipped past her visor in blurred strips of vibrant blue and gold. She tried shrugging off what Helen had said, comparing her to the thugs they were after, whilst keeping her focus on the road ahead. But the more she thought about it, the more she realised the depths of the inference. _She_ was _lumping me in with those thugs, wasn’t she?_ Her fingers squeezed tight around the throttle, and when she swerved to overtake the car in front, it was made too sharply. Irene grunted at the motion, locking her hold on Tatjana so as not to fly off the back of the bike. However, she said nothing. Tatjana felt bad regardless and attempted to collect herself.

Leaving the glow of the centre behind, she crossed the eastern bridge and made for the factory district. It was never a place she liked to traverse. Outside of when the job lead her there she avoided it as best she could. The district was caught in a never-ending cycle of crime and impoverishment and those affected by neither were hard to come by (usually labourers that lived elsewhere in the outskirts). Even if she didn’t think much of her comrades, knowing that they were around made her feel safer. She couldn’t help but wonder if the others felt the same… Or, if they’d think she was weak for still being unsettled by the place after years on the job.

Their destination was close to the city docks - an area made up of several derelict warehouses. Once, the buildings had stored both cargo ships and goods from abroad, but many foreign nations had severed trading ties with Utopia. With nothing to store save from products manufactured in the district itself, there was little use for the warehouses. Those that hadn’t been demolished often sheltered squatting criminals. As Tatjana pulled up on the pavement a couple of streets away from this hub, she took note of the positions of her colleagues up ahead, shadowy, black-clad bodies slinking off their bikes as well.

Helen removed her helmet, but reattached her headset afterwards; she whistled loudly into it, “ _Whoo_ , you hear that? They’re really going at it.”

Small vibrations could be felt in the tarmac beneath their feet. Indeed, when Tatjana removed her own helmet, she heard what Helen was talking about straight away: relentless gunfire. There was a lump in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

“No dawdling.” Irene said. “We’ll take the positions we discussed back at base.” The ins and outs of which Tatjana didn’t _quite_ remember in full, but as luck would have it she had only been given orders to cover Irene. “Our objective is to help the others that are here, not cause more chaos.” The others began to dart off before she had finished speaking, her words still carried over their shared frequency. “Rendezvous back here in half an hour. Good luck, girls.”

It was a typical statement, but Tatjana found a certain reassurance in that bid of good luck. They needed all the luck they could get: the closer they drew to the conflict, running with Irene down a nearby back street, the bigger the task at hand seemed. The night’s air was full of shots and cries and the scent of smoke. Broken glass crackled beneath the soles of her boots, but she couldn’t be sure where it was from.

Between their street and the next was a thin, dark alleyway separating two buildings that were apparently wholly empty. Irene stopped at the side of the alleyway, poking her head around the corner before crouching down. She clambered into the darkness, beckoning Tatjana to do the same with a simple hand motion.

A noise, possibly a voice, came through her headset, distorted by the line. Tatjana’s attention was on Irene (whose figure she could only just see where the muted streetlights beyond the alley accented the top of her head) until then. She asked through her mouthpiece, low and quiet, “Everything okay?”

The sound she’d heard hadn’t helped her anxiousness. It made her fear the worst straight away: _what if someone’s hurt already?_ There was a pregnant pause in which she held her breath and bit her lips together. A reply came with another popping of the line, and faded echoes of the gunshots, “S’all good.” She was fairly sure this had come from Helen’s companion, Noel, but she didn’t mind so much who had said it as long as it confirmed they weren’t in any trouble - just yet.

“Same on this end.” One of whom she assumed to be from the third pair added in.

As Tatjana sighed in relief, Irene addressed her, switching her headset off to do so, “I’m going ahead. Stay in here.”

There wasn’t much she could do but comply. On her knees on the cold, hard pavement, even in the seclusion of the alleyway, she felt rather vulnerable as soon as Irene had moved. Still with her head lowered, she shot out, and tumbled down just as she left her view. Crawling a closer to the corner of the building that was shrouding her, where Irene had just been, Tatjana examined as much of the area beyond as she could. There was slight movement behind the broken windows of the upper floors of the warehouse across the street, and for a second eyeing this made her limbs tense up. But as there was nothing happening on that street, she forced herself to relax a little.

“You alright?” She heard Irene say, though she was almost drowned out by the nearby ruckus.

Shuffling a little further forwards, mindful of any more broken glass that may have been beneath her, Tatjana managed to look past the building’s corner and towards where Irene had gone. A stack of metal crates lay in the middle of the street, no more than five yards from her. She wasn’t sure of their purpose until she noticed that Irene, now knelt behind said crates, wasn’t alone.

The officer, laid with her back against one of the crates, appeared to be tending to a bloodied wound in her own leg, but it was hard for Tatjana to tell from that angle until Irene moved to her other side and was no longer blocking the view. The injured woman made a grunting noise before answering Irene, “I’ll live. They sure got me good, though.”

A noise like thunder resounded through the area, giving the ground an intense shudder. Tatjana’s heart dropped and she heard Irene hissing, “What the _hell_ was that!? Are they using explosives!?”

One of the others swore aloud over the headset. The line became warped again, but amongst what she could make out there was a shrieking yell of the word ‘grenade’. Tatjana’s first instinct was to recoil back into the safety of the darkness, but… _No_ , she couldn’t do that. Irene was already making a grab for the rifle strapped to her back and so she forced her sweating, unstable hands to do the same.

Before Tatjana could reach out to the others again through her headset, Irene had jumped out from the safety of the makeshift barrier. Stood tall again, she whipped her head in Tatjana’s direction whilst brandishing her gun, “I’m going in! Back me up!”

In spite of her fears she was ready to do so - and rose from her knees. But as her gaze deviated back to the windows, she became locked in place again. A face, shrouded by the darkness and the distance, had caught sight of them. The window was lurched open.

She wanted to call out Irene’s name, to catch her attention, but it became lodged in her throat like a hiccup. Yet as if it were second nature, she raised her rifle and aimed for the window at the very moment the indistinguishable person made a throwing motion. Her shot missed and ricocheted off the building - and before it could serve to notify Irene, it was too late.

A small, blackened shape dropped through the air and all Tatjana could think was, _this is it - I’m going to die._

As her eyes clenched shut she felt herself flying backwards, and assuming it was from the blast radius she screamed upon instinct. But there was no pain - just a heavy pressing in her stomach. Only when she opened her eyes to see both Irene and the street fade into a blur as she shifted backwards through the darkness did the light flash and the explosion ripple through her.

She fell to the ground a moment later, catching sight of a figure before rolling onto her front. Her rifle slipped from her grasp and her headset dropped off as well, leaving her with a ringing in her ears as well as the echoes of her own scream. The distant gunfire persisted, and it was the only other thing she could hear.

Face to the tarmac, she whimpered as she tried to make some vague sense of what had just happened. _I’m not dead - I’m not… How?_ Her heart was slamming against her ribcage, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to breathe.

A hand scooped under the shoulder she was laid on, and it guided her into a seated position. Only then was she able to take in a sharp breath of air. She was still waiting for the pain to arrive, but instead all she felt was numbness.

Blinking, she brought the person looming over her into focus. The first thing she could make sense of was a pair of amber eyes, staring at her with something akin to concern. Then she noticed the masculine figure and the off-green uniform which was identifiable; it belonged to HQ, but in the state of shock she was in, she wasn’t prepared to rack her brain to put a name to it.

All she could think about was the sight of the grenade hurtling through the air, inches away from Irene whose face faded into the distance. _Irene_ … Where was Irene? Tatjana craned her head in the direction of the alleyway entrance, some ways down from where she’d landed. She felt sick, and not because of the lump in her stomach.

Stammering, her breath threatening to stall once more, she managed to cough out from her dry throat, “I-Irene.”

The hand, lukewarm and firm, slid off her shoulder. “I couldn’t save her. Only you.” A short exhale followed the upfront words, spoken in a low rumble. “I’m sorry.”

Tatjana brought a shaking hand over her mouth as she hung her head. The scene played over in her mind. It played again and again until it was too much to bear. By then the man had started to look over his shoulder, as if something were distracting him, though he had yet to move from her side.

“I gotta get moving. You’ll be fine, right? You’re Women’s Corps, so you’ll be able to get yourself outta here.” He said, eventually. When she didn’t respond, he gave her shoulder a nudge. “C’mon. Start looking alive, would you?”

She didn’t move, even when he had disappeared from the scene. Time passed, but she wasn’t sure how long it was before the gunshots had all died off. It could have been hours, it could have been the thirty minutes Irene had given them for the rendezvous, but at some point Noel found her, knees to her chin and still as a statue.

“Hey - what’re you doing here?” Her voice seemed disembodied. “We’ve been waiting back at the rendezvous place for you. Where’s Irene?”

Tatjana didn’t answer.

 

*

 

The HQ building had never felt like home to her, but when Tatjana returned to her family’s farmhouse, she found that didn’t feel like home, either. Perhaps it was because her parents were no longer there. Knowing her father was gravely ill, she had left the Corps and returned to the farm. But it was not just his health that had made this decision for her - after spending her last few months of service on the front line in The South, it had finally occurred to her: she wasn’t cut out to be a member of the Corps.

She could fight decently. She could hold her ground against criminals. She could fire and reload a gun and drive a number of vehicles. But she was prone to mistakes, and above all, everything about tackling crime or fighting the war made her feel weary. It was an unending cycle of conflict and pain and death. The Corps could only fight the crime they knew of, but gangs continued to thrive. Even the most skilled officers weren’t invincible. Tatjana understood why Corps members became offstandish; why they liked to have independent mindsets and keep to themselves. There were many Irenes. She couldn’t live like that, but she wasn’t sure she could live a life just as isolated on the farm.

For the weeks that followed her father’s death, the only people she spoke to were the farmhands. A few had families and homes of their own and left after sundown, the others lived on site in an annexe. And so even if her house itself was empty, she wasn’t sure she was supposed to feel as alone as she did. She wondered if perhaps she missed the hecticness of the capital after all.

The evening was clear, and a dusty pink colour covered the sky. Sunlight poured through the windows of the farmhouse’s little wooden kitchen, casting long shadows across the boarded floor, and a midsummer’s warmth hung in the air. She kept the front door open for this reason - despite the fact they’d been fertilising the fields that day; she was starting to become accustomed to the smell.

One of the workers had been into the city that week and had obtained a catalogue of farming equipment whilst there. He’d circled a few vehicles pictured, suggesting they replace what was already being used on the farm. But all Tatjana could think about, seated at the kitchen table and giving the catalogue a flick through, was how extortionate the prices were, and how little she actually knew about anything in there. It took longer than it should have for her to realise she wasn’t reading the pages properly but was staring blankly at them. She didn’t care… It was too warm a day for her to care.

With that in mind she left her seat, heading across the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. She took a brief glance out of the window above the sink whilst doing so. One of the older farmhands, a man named Gennaro who had been working there long before her father had gained ownership, was collecting animal feed out the front. She almost turned away with her glass of water, thinking nothing of it - Gennaro would always feed the pigs at that time of day - until a split second before she did, she realised he wasn’t alone.

“I’m looking for Mr. Janeski.” She heard a deep, unfamiliar voice carried through the open door in the soft breeze.

Gennaro put down his feed and gave his hunched back a shove to straighten it up, shielding his eyes from the sun to get a look at the tall, looming figure of the newcomer. “Well, you’re a lil’ late, son. Janeski kicked the bucket ‘bout two months back. His daughter owns this place now.”

Without hesitation, as if he were in some kind of a hurry, the other man said, “Then I’m looking for her.”

Nodding his head towards the farmhouse, Gennaro replied, “Give the doorbell a ring. If she don’t answer, she’ll be out back somewhere.”

Tatjana placed her water on the counter and headed for the doorway. She could only wonder what that man wanted… And she could only hope that it was nothing untoward. Standing at the open door she took a better look at him. He definitely didn’t look like he was from HQ; male officials were always uniformed, and he wore a taupe-coloured suit which didn’t look suitable for the weather, nor for visiting a farm. One hand held a metallic briefcase, the other was placed in the pockets of his slacks, yet he stood upright, displaying the fullness of his tall, broad-shouldered figure. Save for his hair, which was gelled upwards into thick spikes that darkened the shade of blond, nothing about him seemed at all casual, which made it all the more difficult to guess who he was and why he might have been there.

As the blond man began to approach her house, Gennaro returned to his duties. He hadn’t moved very far before he spotted her and stopped in his tracks. He was young and handsome, with prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw; his eyes were narrowed into thin slits as he looked upon her, and though it may have been from the brightness of the sun, it was an intimidating stare, paired with the ghost of a frown upon his lips. Even if nothing came to mind, the sheer sight of him made Tatjana wonder what she’d done to get in his bad books… Yet, she couldn’t help also entertaining the idea that wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Can I help you?” She asked with politeness, folding her hands behind her back.

“Miss Janeski, is it?” His mouth hardly moved as he spoke.

As she corrected him, she nodded. “Jane _ska_.” He wasn’t the first to make that mistake with her family’s naming traditions, and he wouldn’t be the last. She didn’t particularly mind; it was only an issue that ever came up when, in situations like that one, she was compared to her father.

Whilst the man seemed to acknowledge her, he didn’t pass comment, instead stating bluntly, “I’d like to speak to you in private.” He raised his hand to motion to the open kitchen door. “Would inside here suffice?”

“Sure, come right in.” Save for Tatjana herself, her house was empty. But she only realised after stepping back off the threshold and leaving the door open for him that allowing the man, who had not yet made his identity or purpose (other than speaking with her) known, may not have been a good idea. She bit her lips together as she stood upright in the centre of the kitchen floor, quickly reminding herself that the unsavoury criminals of Utopia didn’t tend to disguise themselves in suits - nor would they strike alone before nightfall. _But what if he has backup somewhere?_ She tried to think of where all the farmhands were at that very moment - if they were safe from harm from whoever else the man had with him, or if they were in some kind of position to help her. Just as quickly as the thought had entered her mind, she tried to shake it off. _What am I thinking? I’m ex-Corps… I should be the one defending myself and the others._

She watched the man carefully as he shut the front door behind himself after entering, before he wiped the soles of his boots on the indoor mat. He did so thoroughly, and then cast his eyes towards the open kitchen window.

“Your employee is still outside, and I’d like our conversation to remain confidential. Close the window.”

Tatjana moved from her spot, compelled to obey him. Even if she got into trouble, Gennaro wouldn’t come save her - his sense of hearing was waning, so it was unlikely he’d be able to eavesdrop even if the window remained open. Despite her concerns, a suggestion came to mind, “I-If you’d like, we could speak in the living room instead.” She said, after pulling the latch shut.

“Here is fine.” He lifted his briefcase and laid it down on the kitchen table. Then, he pulled the closest seat out and settled into it. “My name is Christiaan van Willigen, C.E.O. of Willigen Architecture & Construction.” He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, as he spoke with clarity yet some drollness, as if he were reading a speech he had gone through several times already. From his pocket he plucked out a small gunmetal container, opening it to reveal a bundle of cigarettes arranged neatly inside. He eyed her across the room and asked with a little more courtesy than he had displayed before, “May I smoke?”

“Oh. Sure.” Tatjana fetched her ashtray from the windowsill and placed it next to his briefcase on the table. Whilst she wasn’t a heavy smoker herself, she often found a couple of cigarettes at the end of a long work day were quite relaxing, especially if she had been out in the field herself. She could understand why her father had been hooked on the things, even if they ultimately made his health worse - possibly, that was the only reason she didn’t smoke daily. “Um… Would you like something to drink as well?” It had been a while since she’d had guests, and she certainly hadn’t been expecting a visit from someone whose profession sounded rather important; she didn’t know whether to be concerned more about the fact she was in her work dress, or there were still unclean dishes in the sink - or what the man actually wanted from her.

“No, thank you.” He answered, offering her a cigarette from his case. When she declined as well, he lowered his head for a moment to light up. “I’d like to offer you a deal, Miss Janeska.” He continued, placing the case and lighter back in the pocket they’d come from. “But first, I must ask you a question.” At that point, his stare became probing, and it made her back stiffen up. “As you’re aware, the state collects your produce, and the produce of the other farms in the region. They pay you as soon as they’ve deducted your taxes, then distribute the food in their markets. What do you make of this?”

She mulled it over for a moment. Though the question had put her on the spot a little, there was an obvious answer she had in mind. “Well, it’s convenient. My father would talk about the ease of the system here, when he was the owner. In other nations, supplies are distributed by various private companies.”

“I see.” He commented, coolly. “You find it convenient, because you’re dealing with a single entity rather than multiple ones.”

“Mhm.” Nodding, she added, “It’s easier too, that they deduct tax from the income, like you said.”

For a little while, the man was quiet. He plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and tapped it against the side of the ashtray. “There are flaws in this system, Miss Janeska. With the markets and the supply chain both owned by the state, no matter what you do, the money returns to them.” He seemed to study her face for a moment, before taking a long drag. “The economy belongs to HQ. They pay me to design and construct buildings, they pay you for your agricultural goods. When they speak of distribution, they begin first and foremost with the centre. The elite is their priority. Without the elite, HQ will cease to exist. They serve those living on the outskirts only to keep them satisfied enough that they won’t cause problems. As long as man has a roof over his head, a job, and access to food and medicine, he’ll be content enough, elite or not.”

It was quite a lot of information for Tatjana to digest, but she managed to follow him. She’d heard of people like this man, when in the Corps. More often than not, sharing an opinion that shed a poor light on HQ as he was doing was worthy of an investigation by an officer at the very least. There was a small, rising rebellion that had a similar viewpoint, but as he had said, most of the people in the capital were still content with their lives. In fact, many of the rebels were not citizens of Utopia, but displaced, unsettled people from the territories in The South. In the war, homes and livelihoods had been destroyed, families uprooted, and that was without considering the bloodshed. In spite of her affiliations, Tatjana had never pretended she liked any of it. She hated it - more than anyone who claimed to hate war but had never seen it could have ever hated it. She hated it so much, that she didn’t want to even think about anything to do with The South or the front lines there; it made her ache inside when she did. Yet, it was inevitable. And, like everybody else, there wasn’t much she could do except keep her opinion to herself.

“You know...” She placed her hands on her hips, though she spoke with an air of humour, “For a guy that cared if an old, half-deaf man could hear us through an open window, you’re still talking pretty openly to a stranger. I’m ex-Women’s Corps. My seniors used to investigate guys like you.”

He raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t look offput. Instead, he snorted. “Are you going to report me?”

Her short-lived attempt at pride cracked, and her shoulders slumped a bit. “W-Well… No. Of course not.”

“I’m part of the elite. They could start an investigation, but I’d pay them to go away and they would.” He flicked his cigarette again. “And that’s without you considering my proposal first.”

She had almost forgotten that he’d mentioned a deal before. Her vision drifted over to his hand, which pulled the metal briefcase closer to him. He punched in a code with the pad of his thumb onto the locking device near the handle, and a small click followed.

“Right now, there’s no way to change what HQ is doing. But in the future, there may be a chance. For the time being, I’m undertaking a construction project. As ex-Corps, you’ll know all about the recent overhaul of HQ’s armed forces.”

Tatjana didn’t know all about it, as a matter of fact, as she had resigned at an earlier time, but she had heard news of it through the grapevine. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

“There’s a couple of thousand Alphas and Omegas living in a previously derelict area of the outskirts right now. I’m going to help them build it up. Though I haven’t finished the planning as a whole, one thing I need for certain is a reliable food supply for them.” He pushed open the case, revealing its contents. “I’d like to purchase co-ownership of this farm for 800,000 _ducats_.”

_Oh._ Staring at the notes piled up inside the case, Tatjana felt as if she’d swallowed something heavy and cold. It churned her stomach - but it was not an unpleasant sensation. “W-Wait… What did you just say?”

The man paused, looking vaguely unimpressed, before he repeated his words, “I’d like to purchase co-ownership of this farm.”

“No, no, not that part.” She stuttered. “The money… How much did you say it was?”

“800,000.”

“Right there?”

After taking his time to react again, he snickered, “Right there. Don’t look so surprised.”

It was more money than Tatjana, who had participated in raids involving money launderers, had ever seen with her own eyes. She didn’t dare believe it was real, and she was almost tempted to pinch herself to see if she’d wake up back in her bed, none of their conversation ever having happened, if she did. It was enough money to buy a house in the centre of the capital... It was enough money that she’d never have to worry about having enough money ever again.

She fought to find her voice, clearing her throat before she spoke. “When you say… You want ‘co-ownership’... Um…”

“Meaning the two of us will have shared ownership of the land and property on it. You can continue to live here, or I can pay someone else to run this place for us.” Smoke drifted from his parted lips as he continued to speak with forwardness. “Either way, my plan is to partially privatise the farm. A portion of the produce will continue to be collected by HQ. The rest will be directed to the Alphas and Omegas. Initially, this will mean income will be smaller, but once they’ve prospered, they’ll be able to give back to us in one way or another.” At that moment, he looked her dead in the eye. “It’s a risk worth taking, I think. They could be the key to HQ’s downfall - ironically.”

So HQ’s downfall _was_ what he wanted, even if it was purely for economic reasons. If Tatjana accepted his terms, did that mean she was aiding the rebellion? Could he have been called a rebel, really? She certainly hadn’t ever pictured a rebel wearing a suit, let alone presenting her with a case full of 800,000 _ducats_. There was always the possibility of HQ finding out his plan, and were that to happen, she’d get roped into what could escalate into a large mess.

She wondered if he’d let her think about it. Rubbing at her forearm, she explained, “This is my family’s farm, even though I’m the owner now. My mother’s sister, my aunt, lives in Forlì.” Forlì was a town further down the coast, separated from the capital by the farmland. “I wanna speak to talk to her about it first.”

Whilst the man looked somewhat displeased by that notion, he responded, “If you want to go now, I can take you.”

“... _Now_?”

“The sooner you make a decision, the better. My car’s outside, I’ll drive you there.”

Her eyes panned towards the window, and the fading golden hues beyond. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“Then I’ll pay for a hotel room.”

_He’s pretty serious about this…_ Tatjana couldn’t find any other excuses, not that it was her intent to wriggle out of his proposal. “Alright… I-If you don’t mind, can I get changed first?” She didn’t want to turn up at her aunt’s wearing the mud-speckled dress she’d been toiling away in early.

He nodded, “Be quick.”

Part of her felt like going slowly on purpose, to spite him for telling her to be quick, but she decided that wasn’t a good idea. He was right to want a prompt decision for her. The welfare of the Alphas and Omegas was, more or less, resting on her shoulders. She had cared for them as part of her duty before; now, she wasn’t obliged to, but it seemed like the right thing to do. But it wasn’t that, so much… It was the astounding amount of money she was being offered: an amount that meant she’d never have to worry about personal finances ever again, even if she wanted to buy herself a nicer house. But with all that in mind, she still wanted to ask her aunt’s opinion beforehand. Only then could she let herself make a decision for sure.

As she cleaned up, and dressed, and threw a few things from her room into an overnight bag, she had to wonder - what would her aunt say, exactly? She wasn’t planning to divulge any details about the project the man was undertaking, but she got the feeling her aunt would get suspicious if she didn’t. It wasn’t every day a wealthy businessman wanted to co-own a farm, just because ‘he felt like it’. Maybe he’d be able to come up with some kind of an excuse himself…

She found him still in his seat in the kitchen when she was ready. He had snuffed out his cigarette and locked the briefcase shut. Once they had left the house, she locked the front door, calling out to Gennaro (who was by the pigpen some thirty yards away), to take care of things in her absence - whether he heard her or not, she wasn’t sure.

It was hard not to take notice of the man’s considerable height, walking alongside him down the dirt pathway that lead past the fields. He was quite an intimidating presence, towering over her even without being directly in front of her - intimidating… But not completely scary, she didn’t think. For a moment, she craned her neck to get a look at his face again, now that he wasn’t giving her an expectant stare. A coy smile tugged at the edges of her lips and she put her eyes forwards again, jitteriness bubbling in her chest. He was nice to look at… She didn’t often get to see men that were.

“What did you say your name was, again?” She asked. Though he seemed to want to do so, walking in silence wasn’t comfortable for her. “It kinda slipped my mind.”

“Christiaan.”

She made an attempt to suppress a girlish chuckle, but failed. “Is there a _Mrs._ Christiaan?”

For a moment after the words had left her mouth, she feared that he might take the question the wrong way. To her relief, he let out a snort himself. “I’m married to my job.”

“Oh, I see.” She bit the inside of her lower lip a bit. “You must really love architecture, huh.”

Deadpan, he replied, “I love money.”

Tatjana laughed awkwardly. She wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “I bet your car’s super nice, then.”

“Mhn.” After that grunted response, she didn’t think he would speak again, until he asked, “You got a car yourself?”

“Just an old four-by-four. I use it for going into the capital.” After musing idly to herself about what kind of replacement vehicle she could get with the 800,000 _ducats_ he was offering her, she added, “I used to ride bikes in the Corps. That was pretty fun, once I learnt to do it without nearly flinging myself off. More fun than driving some of the tin cans they used on the front lines, anyway.”

“You were on the front lines? In The South?”

Upon hearing him say that, she wished she hadn’t mentioned it. Her smile waned, though she attempted to keep it from disappearing altogether, and a small lump formed in her throat. “Yeah. It was awful.”

He must have understood her discomfort, as he changed the topic back, “I have bikes, too. Several. Mostly for display.” Sidelong, he eyed her. “Civilians aren’t permitted to overtake traffic, so I don’t get to ride them around the city the same way you probably did.”

By the time they reached Christiaan’s car, parked up at the farmland’s entrance, the sun had dipped past the western horizon, leaving the sky with a rose-pink tint. There was still a gentle heat hanging in the air, but the oncoming chill of nightfall drew closer with every passing minute. The car was a silver that reflected the colours of the evening; a sleek, long and thin model with garish saffron upholstery. With two seats and no trunk, when they had settled into the car, Tatjana was passed the metal briefcase to keep ahold of.

“Forlì…” Christiaan muttered to himself, as he fired the engine up. It roared loudly, but it was a smooth noise, not at all like the rattling sounds the HQ vehicles made. “Haven’t been there in a while.”

Finding the briefcase to be an uncomfortably heavy weight on her lap, Tatjana shifted it to her side instead. “You’ve just gotta keep heading south from here, down the coastline. The road doesn’t really taper off anywhere.”

He said nothing more, pressing his foot on the gas and pulling the car off its parking spot. Soon, they were speeding at an impressive rate along the route that lead to The South, and the farmhouse faded into the darkening distance behind them. Tatjana wished she could find another topic of conversation, but she didn’t mind so much now that she was able to watch the scenery rush past from the passenger window: rising hills, grassland of chartreuse and gold upon which the shadows of twilight were cast, blackened forests and the remnants of stone-bricked settlements from aeons gone by. Breathtaking as the scenery was, the road was uneven and had not been resurfaced in some time, and the car’s seating was low. Janky as her four-by-four could be, it was an easier ride - on those countryside roads, at least. The leather seats were comfortable, but the further out they got, the less that seemed to matter.

By the time they reached Forlì, Tatjana’s rear was aching badly. She whimpered internally, not wanting to put her foot in her mouth and tell Christiaan that he needed to drive with more care, so as not to give her a sore ass.

He’d pulled into a parking lot near to the centre of the town. Forlì was nowhere near as big as Utopia, but it was big enough to retain its original name; villages and smaller settlements were not afforded that luxury, and were assigned numbers instead. It had a quaintness about it, the buildings were mostly still constructed from stone, and the streetlights had a bewitching warmth about them the ones in the capital did not. Tatjana’s aunt said that the town was not unlike many that still existed in the Eastern States, and that was why she had chosen to live there. She knew where to find her aunt’s home, but she wasn’t sure turning up there now that it was dark was a good idea. Christiaan had mentioned checking into a hotel, and so when they had stepped out of the car, she brought it up.

“D’you know where we’re gonna be staying?” She asked, fighting the urge to rub the ache in her backside. “You said a hotel, but there’s a few around.”

Carrying the briefcase with him, Christiaan began to leave the parking lot after locking the car. “We’re gonna go take a look at all of them, then decide by finding out which is cheapest.”

Eyes widening, Tatjana stumbled after him, “What? That’s so…” She fought with her mind for a moment for the right word. “...Prudent!”

Coolly, he glanced over his shoulder at her, “I’m joking.”

She grimaced a bit. “Oh.” _Thank God for that..._ She hadn’t cared that he wanted to stay somewhere cheap, rather, she didn’t want to be dragged around all the hotels for that purpose alone, and so, knowing he wasn’t serious was quite the relief.

They wandered through the neatly paved streets, passing high-walled buildings and locals plodding in the direction of Forlì’s smoky bars and restaurants that gave them brief stares, either because Christiaan was overdressed for a stroll on a summer’s evening, or because Tatjana was dressed exceedingly plain in comparison to him. Alternatively, they were staring because Christiaan looked like he’d just walked off one of the pages of those glossy magazines the elite women liked. She didn’t mind so much when she thought of it that way, that it was more likely they were eyeing him and only him.

Upon reaching a wide open, empty square the scent of the sea became heavy in the air. The coast was nearby, and based on what Tatjana could remember of the town’s layout, Christiaan was leading them in that direction. “Are we going to the seafront?” She asked, enjoying the vast space the square offered with a spring in her step. “Any hotels down there’ll be expensive, huh?”

As they crossed in front of the old statue, perched atop its short sandstone pillar in the square’s dead middle, Christiaan raised his head to examine it. Only when it was behind them did he answer. “I can barter down a good price.” As he spoke, a smugness emerged in his voice, as if he wanted to add to that a question of ‘Who do you think I am?’

Deciding to trust his word, she eyed the road ahead as they drew closer to it. But at that very moment, they were stopped in their tracks, forced into a brief stillness. An almighty _bang_ resounded through the streets, shaking the ground, rattling windows and knocking the few people around off balance. Instinctively, Tatjana made a grab for the sleeve of Christiaan’s jacket to steady herself, her heart leaping up to her throat and then slamming back down into her gut. When Christiaan too was sturdy, back bent and shoulders tensed, they were as immobile as the statue behind them for the few moments that followed the noise.

Tatjana only moved when she heard the cries echoing from the seafront. She shivered, preparing to recoil, eyes cast to the darkened sky above the rooftops as light-tinted smoke began to rise beyond them. Before any words could leave her dried, gaping mouth, Christiaan thrust his briefcase towards her.

“Stay back here.” He barked through gritted teeth, before taking off in a run.

Her mind was already trying to process what was happening in the seafront’s direction, and so her response to his actions were delayed. A hardened breath hitching in her throat, she forced herself to focus on his departing figure before yelling after him, “Where are you going!? Why are you--”

_Why is he going straight towards that place!?_

She couldn’t fathom why. Or why her legs began to carry her after him, irrespective of his command. Her palms were sweating, making her clutch tighter to the briefcase lest it drop from her grasp. As Christiaan ran down the road he wove in and out of those fleeing the scene. Not a single person stopped in his wake, and Tatjana was forced to dodge them also to keep up with him. She wanted to call for him - she wanted to ask what had gotten into him, but she couldn’t keep up. Even when the route ahead was free from oncomers, his long legs were able to carry him further, faster.

The road came to an end, and Tatjana lost sight of Christiaan until she hung right onto the seafront. He was still several yards ahead, only just visible in the cascading lamplight. Smoke and flames rose from a building where the seafront came to an end, close to Forlì’s docks. Just as Tatjana began to speed up her run as fast as her body would let her, Christiaan slowed down in front of one of the nearer buildings that lined the coastal walkway. When she managed to catch up, she saw that there was something close to relief on his face. She, herself, didn’t feel quite so at ease.

Stood still, he cast a few glances between the place he’d stopped in front of, and her. Save for the rise and fall of his chest, he didn’t appear exhausted by his run. She, on the other hand, felt as if her lungs had turned to lead.

“I told you to stay where you were.” He muttered to her, coldly. “This entire place could have been in flames.”

She kept her gaze on the building that was alight. The scent of smoke mingled with the salt from the sea, and she could vaguely hear the crackling of fire against the quiet of the evening and the blood rushing in her ears. Not once did she stop staring in that direction, even when Christiaan had grabbed her arm. _What happened there?_ An accidental chemical explosion? Or, had someone planted a bomb? For what purpose? What was the building even used for? And - had there been people inside?

“C’mon. Come inside. It’s safe in here.” But her mind began to drown Christiaan’s voice out as her eyes made out distant figures: dark, shadowy specks in front of the burning building.

“Th-There’s people there.” She croaked, tearing her eyes away to meet his with a distressed look. “They could’ve come from the building. They could be hurt.”

Part of her expected his hardened expression to mean he wasn’t going any further ahead. To her surprise, and gratitude, once he’d taken a look for himself, he gave her a slow nod.

They took off in the direction of the chaos. It didn’t take long for Christiaan to get ahead again, and as the radiating heat from the rising golden flames began to reach Tatjana, she saw him kneel by a thin, roughed up body, laid on its front with its face hidden from view. He gave the person a gentle shake, though they did not seem to respond. She tried not to fear the worst for that person - surely, the town’s hospital staff would be along as soon as possible. Drawing to a halt herself a little ways behind Christiaan, she examined the others present. Two young men, one who appeared to be no more than a child, were seated a few steps from the motionless body - and another form - also male, she could safely assume - was stood upright, at a dangerous proximity to the burning building.

The older of the seated boys met her gaze, but said nothing. In the stark mix of darkness and light it was hard to get a good look at either of their faces, but whilst they seemed as disheveled as the laid-out body did, neither, to her relief, appeared to have any injuries. She wanted to ask them why they were there, if they’d escaped the building and why they were just sat there and not fleeing the scene, but her concern for the man stood very close to the ongoing fire was more prominent: his safety was the most in jeopardy.

Aware of the risk to herself as well as to him, she took a few cautious strides onwards past the boys. Christiaan’s briefcase still tucked under one arm, her free hand raised in front of her, shaking ever so slightly. “S-Sir!” She called to him. When it was drowned out, she took another, much smaller step in his direction and raised her voice, “ _Sir!!_ Please, come away from there!”

His broadened form was rigid and still, though it appeared as though the man had taken note of her words. First, with slowness, as if he were considering whether to obey her or not, he twisted his head over his shoulder. His body turned shortly after. Like the boys, he appeared to her as a vaguely darkened silhouette - at first. Then he came closer to her, closing the gap between them.

The amber in his eyes burned like the towering fire. Her heart felt like it wanted to stop.

“Tatjana...?”

She didn’t know what to say. What could she say? Was there _anything_? Her gaze began to drop from the vague familiarity of his face, flecked with dark stains, and to the skin of his neck,  down his loosened collar and the rest of his unkempt clothes, where the patches became more pronounced - and to his hands, the right of which gripped a blade. Where his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the entirety of the occupied forearm was dripping. Not marked to the same degree, his freed wrist still bore the blackened symbol of his identification: **ɑ**.

Stomach unsettled, Tatjana wished she had it in her to flee the scene, like the townsfolk had before. The horror alone would not permit her; it was as if her feet had sunk into the concrete. Yet, the look upon his face was not one that posed a threat. His eyes watched her face, his lips and eyebrows beginning to twitch as her silence persisted.

And then, his voice came again, high and creaking like an untuned instrument, around a woeful grimace. “I killed them.”

Her jaw grew lax, shuddering with every breath she inhaled. It pained her to look him in the eye, yet her gaze persisted. Them - _plural_. Who they were, she didn’t dare ask. She didn’t dare let any of the inevitable questions even enter her mind.

Instead, she asked the same thing of herself as before: _Why can’t I run?_

 

*

 

Christiaan’s construction project became known as ‘the stronghold’.

It was an impressive feat, despite its flaws and difficulties. In the space of two years, high circumference walls had been erected; there were established medical facilities, rules to live by, and though not everyone had a home of their own, the temporary dwellings that existed were safe and secure. As long as HQ didn’t interfere, the future of those who lived in the stronghold looked bright. At least, Tatjana thought so.

Several Alphas - the majority of whom were involved in the construction of homes and had worked on the walls - lived together in a large room above the main hall. Tatjana would visit once a week; her usual time was on an afternoon when Vuk was around. If she called in mid-morning, as she did that day, there’d typically only be one Alpha lounging around up there.

She had grown fond of Vuk’s younger brothers. All three of them were different in their own ways, yet had quite striking similarities between them. Ilir, the youngest, had the same kind of aloof yet sturdy presence that Vuk did. Šćepan, directly between the other two in age - four years older than Ilir, four years younger than Vuk - had the same colouring Ilir did; raven hair and skin of a slightly ruddy tint. But most notable of all was that Vuk and Šćepan had almost identical faces.

Tatjana found it bizarre, every time she looked upon the middle brother. He had reached eighteen, the same age that Vuk had been when he’d saved her life in the factory district. It was like seeing the ghost of that same man; strange, but comforting at the same time.

As he raised his head from his pillow, spying her crossing the creaking floorboards towards their sleeping area (a dozen or so mattresses packed together beneath the slopes of the gabled roof), he asked dozily, “What’d you bring today?”

“Hello to you too, Šćepan.” She refrained from rolling her eyes, before she answered his question. “A few country loaves and a quarter rye loaf.” Settling her shopping bag down on a nearby table, she added, “Sure hope you guys can make them last longer than two hours for once.”

Šćepan’s mouth fell into an unimpressed frown as he sat upwards and shuffled to the end of his mattress. “If we didn’t, it’d go stale.”

“Bread doesn’t go stale in two hours, dummy.”

“What makes you so sure? If it’s not still warm from the oven when you buy it, how d’you know it’s not been sitting on Anke’s rack for a week? Though...” He paused to snicker then, eyes squinting as he smirked. “I sure wouldn’t mind sitting on Anke’s rack, even just for a few minutes.”

If that had been some kind of a joke, Tatjana hadn’t understood it. She pictured the space at the back of the bakery unit where the loaves of bread were stacked. It didn’t seem like a very comfortable place for a person to sit. Deciding not to respond to the comment, she reached into the top of the bag, pulling out a small package wrapped in paper. There were better topics for them to discuss than bread and racks, and she had a particular one in mind.

His gaze was glued to the package, as she moved to stand in front of him. It was her turn to smile then, with false sweetness, as she extended the package towards him.

“Your favourite...” She chimed.

Heavy brows raised and eyes widened, he lifted his hand to accept it - but she whipped it away behind her back at the last moment.

Her tone flattened, “...On one condition.”

With a knowing look, he stilled his hand, not retracting it. His voice came as a drone, “You wanna know about that night in Forlì.”

For two years, it had plagued her mind. That very night, the night which had marked the beginning of her involvement in Christiaan’s project. The heat of the burning building, the scent of smoke and ash and sea salt, and the crack in Vuk’s voice that resounded in her head, over and over: _I killed them._

As it had turned out, the establishment Christiaan had checked on was an inn his company had invested in for refurbishment. He had later informed Tatjana that the middle-aged woman who ran it came to his office in the capital every so often to deal with the finances. Said woman had told him he was welcome to stay at the inn without charge whenever he wished. He explained that he had not bolted off through the town’s streets to check that the inn was still standing because of the payout, but rather because he was concerned for the woman and her staff.

The inn became their hiding spot for the night. Tatjana pleaded for Christiaan’s help, in spite of how suspicious the brothers looked. He seemed reluctant, wanting instead to get the motionless body to the hospital, until she mentioned they were Alphas. Though begrudgingly still, he agreed. Before the firefighters and medical staff had arrived at the scene of the fire, Christiaan spoke of the inn. The time it took to move the three brothers and the body there was agonising, yet they managed to do so without being caught. Tatjana had been concerned in particular about the blood on Vuk’s clothing. When the inn’s owner had cast an aghast look in his direction, however, Šćepan had managed to make an excuse for him: “It’s his own blood. He got pummelled by the blast.” Christiaan had also added to that, stating they had moved to the inn because they weren’t sure how many injured would already be in the hospital from the fire; that they’d be able to patch him up themselves.

Much of the rest of the evening became a blur to her. Christiaan didn’t warm to the idea of helping the man that seemed responsible for both the explosion, and bloodshed. Yet he did so with his project in mind, so he claimed. Finding a pulse still on the body, he decided that the inn was not the best place for them, and took them to the hospital. All Tatjana remembered of that person was that he’d mentioned an Omega symbol on their wrist - and that the next day, when Christiaan returned to the hospital to check on them, they were gone.

Tatjana had watched over the three brothers for two years. She made regular visits from her farm, and brought them food and clothing, and anything else they needed to be at least somewhat comfortable in their situation. Even though she wasn’t sure she was always appreciated for it, it became somewhat of a vice for her. Šćepan and Ilir, slumped on the walkway and Vuk, bloodied and confused - they had all looked so… _Vulnerable_. They had been cast out from the program - they weren’t with the other Alphas and Omegas…In their so-called ‘freedom’, they had gotten themselves lost. She didn’t know why, she couldn’t even fathom a guess as to why any of that was. All she had known was that they needed someone - anyone - to take care of them.

And, perhaps, she needed someone to do the same for her.

In response to Šćepan’s statement, Tatjana corrected him with a mild tone, “I want to know why your brother stopped smiling.”

He paused in thought, retaining the raise of his extended hand. Then, to her surprise, he wriggled those fingers and replied, “Gimme the goods, first. Oh, and one other condition.”

For a split second, she felt elation for having gotten through to him - before it disappeared in a flash. “Huh?”

Šćepan winked, the edge of his lips curling upwards with the crinkle of his thin eye. “We go on a date.”

“Wh-What? You and... Me?” Startled, Tatjana coughed out her words. It seemed to her that Šćepan was messing around as usual - he really didn’t want to tell her what she wanted to know.

“Yeah, who else?” With a shrug, Šćepan continued in a casual manner. “I’m at the age of maturity for Alphas now, but I’m not interested in Omegas. Their heats sound like a pain in the ass. Maybe even literally. I got my own shit to worry about.”

She waited for him to do that thing that she’d gotten used to Christiaan doing - where he’d say something untoward and then, when she didn’t react properly, he’d inform her that he was kidding. But when Šćepan said nothing of the sort, all Tatjana could do was cover her reddening face with the paper package.

Of all the men that could have possibly had any interest in her…

“O-One date.” She agreed, and she dropped the package into his hand. “A-And only because I want you to tell me what happened!”

With a triumphant grin, Šćepan ripped open the paper. Inside was a portion of small, rounded fried pastries topped with confectioner’s sugar. They were very sweet, Tatjana found, but Šćepan seemed to like them a lot, so she often bribed him with them. As terrible as it seemed, it was sometimes the only way to get him to do anything (though, in most instances, she was the one who caved before him).

She plopped down next to him on the end of the mattress as he popped a whole pastry into his mouth, chewing it thoroughly as his victorious look changed to a more mellow one.

“I shouldn’t be telling you the story. Vuk’ll probably beat the crap outta me if he finds out.” He said, after swallowing. “As you know, he made me and Ilir swear never to speak of it. But, y’know, I’ve been thinking - you were there, back then, when it happened. And you’re always coming here, and bringing us stuff. We don’t even get to see you every day, but it kinda feels like you’re part of our family anyway.”

Tatjana blinked in surprise. That must have been the nicest thing she’d ever heard Šćepan say, and she was flattered by it.

“So, just don’t go shouting it at him or anything. Don’t even go whispering it at him. I like my nose where it is on my face now.”

She folded her hands in her lap, watching him suck a bit of powdered sugar from the tip of his forefinger. “My lips are sealed. I promise.”

Pensiveness, and the faintest trace of dejection, crossed Šćepan’s face. “It began the day Vuk’s Omega died.”

**[End of Act One]**

 


	14. Chapter 14

Dawn had only just broken and Marko was already regretting his decision to step outside the stronghold - not for fear of his own safety, but because after he’d had his conversation with Sadık at the end of the jetty, Ilir was nowhere to be found.

First he searched the storeroom next to where the _Sultan_ was anchored, and then he poked his head around the sides, and in another iron-walled unit close by that was completely empty. The higher the sun lifted from the horizon, the lower Marko’s heart sank. They’d been out at the docks for a quarter of an hour perhaps - if that - and things had managed to take an unfortunate turn before what could have sociably been called ‘morning’ had begun.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Ilir had taken the opportunity to simply make a break for it. Perhaps he’d disappeared into the streets of the outskirts, to do… Well, whatever he wanted - Marko wasn’t sure what that could have been, though; he’d thought what Ilir wanted to do beyond the stronghold was to work for Sadık, nothing more.

 _That sneaky little shit_ , he cursed as he considered the idea that he’d been used as part of the boy’s ulterior motives. Resigning himself to slumping down outside the doorway of the _Sultan’s_ storeroom, he covered his face with his hands and let out a long, strained sigh. Part of him tried to convince himself that Ilir would be alright on his own - after all, from what Marko had heard, the young Alpha had managed to look out for himself plenty of times before. But Marko simply couldn’t shake the feeling of ‘what if?’ - what if something went wrong? What if Ilir got himself into trouble, or hurt, or worse?

Vuk might well kill him.

Swallowing a small lump that formed in his throat, Marko decided to consider his options instead of wallowing in his own thoughts about how he’d been ditched and what the consequences were going to be. He eyed the moored ship across from him. There was always a possibility he could seek help from Sadık, but not only was the man probably busy, Marko had seen him return to the _Sultan_ after they’d spoken, and wanting to do so again would have required stepping aboard the ship. The thought left him with a dull pain in his stomach, and a weird taste in his mouth.

The area was empty, and Marko would have found the lapping of the water and the ever-changing colours of the sky serene, had he not wanted someone - specifically, Sadık, or one of his crew - around so that he could work the Ilir situation out.

Immersed in his ponderings over what he might have to say to Sadık, he didn’t notice the person approaching him in a jog, and standing over him, until they spoke.

“There you are.” The voice was somewhat startled. “I thought you’d wandered off and left me. I looked everywhere.”

When Marko heard the familiar voice, it felt as if a hefty weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He raised his head to look upwards, breathing out in relief as he rose to his feet a moment later.

It was Ilir.

“I thought _you’d_ wandered off.” He said, with a frustrated raise of his voice. “I checked the whole area - where the hell were ya!?”

“‘Checking the whole area’, for you.” Ilir made an unimpressed frown as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We must’ve been looking for each other, and ended up missing each other ‘cause we kept moving around.”

That made enough sense, but Marko didn’t care about exactly what had happened, as long as he knew Ilir hadn’t pulled a fast one on him.

“Anyway, the crew never uses that unit behind this one.” The young Alpha continued. “No one else does, either. Wanna set up there?”

Marko had almost forgotten that there had been a reason Ilir had started wandering around in the first place. “Uh.” He recalled that, mere minutes before, he had scolded the boy mentally under the assumption he’d used Marko to get what he’d wanted. Now that Marko had to break it to him that he wasn’t planning to set up a clinic at the docks after all, he felt like a hypocrite. Rubbing the back of his neck with his clammy fingers he explained, “Look, I know I said I was gonna set up out here, but…” Was he allowed to tell a white lie, for Ilir’s sake? “Truth is, I just told Vuk that to throw him off. I’d, uh…” When the boy’s eyebrows raised, he donned a sheepish smile. “I’d be more interested in doin’ the same kinda work as you, actually.”

For a moment, it seemed like Ilir was convinced - but as he mulled Marko’s words over, his frown became more pronounced. Cooly, he mumbled, “You lied, then.”

“I did what I thought would work the best.” Marko replied, not wanting to flat-out agree with him.

Ilir’s brow furrowed, and he scrunched his nose. “My brother trusted your word. He probably thought you were gonna help sick people in the factory district for sure. _I_ thought you were gonna help ‘em.”

Wincing inwardly, Marko digested what Ilir was saying, but wished he didn’t have to. That he was stating what was obvious in that regard was like rubbing salt into an open wound. “Ilir, I didn’t do it ‘cause I _wanted_ to deceive anyone. I did it ‘cause I wanted to help you.” His smile waned, but there was an innocence he could see in Ilir’s sore expression that made him force it back as much as he could.

Ilir’s face twitched, and he began to look saddened, head and shoulders lowering. “Why’d I even trust you? You’re just the same as Vuk, and Sis. You all think you know best.”

 _All they want is to protect you_ , Marko thought, but he refrained from saying it aloud. If he didn’t understand Ilir’s point of view, that Vuk and Tatjana were overbearing and coddled him, then he wouldn’t have been stood there outside the stronghold with him. “That’s, uh.” He shifted the weight between his feet. “That’s what adults do, y’know? You’ll realise that, one day.”

The tension back in his shoulders, Ilir snarled, “Quit talking to me like I’m a kid!”

Marko didn’t know how else to get through to him. Sighing through his nose, he shook his head to himself. “Ya act like that, and people _are_ gonna treat ya like a kid.” Looking him in the eye, he went on to say, “I’m sorry I said what I did. All I wanted was to help us both.” Balling his hands into fist and releasing them again, he chewed over what Ilir had said about the sick in the factory district, and thought of Erzsébet, and all the times she’d asked that of him. What would _she_ have said, were she right there in Ilir’s shoes? “Hey, look… I might not be able to set anything up out here, but if there’s anyone ya want me to take a look at, I will.”

To both his surprise and relief, that compromise managed to change Ilir’s judgement, so it seemed. His face softened, and so did his tone, “How are you gonna do that without setting up? No one’s gonna know you’re here, and we can’t go out of the docks to find anyone either.”

“I didn’t really think it through. Maybe the guys in the ship’s crew might come across people.”

As Ilir became quiet again, it appeared the cogs in his head were turning. “I got a friend who comes to see Mr. Adnan sometimes. She might be able to help, if she shows up.”

“Ya think that’ll be soon?” Marko asked, though Ilir hadn’t filled him in on who his friend was and exactly how she could help.

“I don’t know. Mr. Adnan just got back into port, so it could be today, tomorrow, or a few days until she shows up. I guess it depends on what she’s busy with right now.” Ilir peered inside the storeroom, the door of which was unlocked and slightly ajar; despite the fact none of the crew members could be seen, the light was on inside, and when Marko had checked in there to find Ilir earlier, he hadn’t come across a single soul. The young Alpha spoke again, “Anyway, I’m gonna get to work. You can help me, I guess.”

Marko snickered at his statement. “I’m sorta like your understudy now, uh?” With a grin, he cracked a joke in an otherwise deadpan voice, “Share your infinite wisdom with me, master of, uh… Crates.”

Ilir bit his lips together. “You need to work on your humour.”

Scratching the crown of his head, Marko made an awkward grimace. “Eh, sorry. I did spend a few days hikin’ with your brother. He must’ve rubbed off on me.”

At that, Ilir let out a snort, appearing a little more impressed. “Better.”

Entering the storeroom together, Ilir explained when Marko brought the open door up that at some point, whilst they were missing each other when searching the docks, a member of the crew had caught Ilir in front of the ship, unlocked the door for him and told him to start whenever he was ready. But Marko had been so engrossed in his concerns over losing Ilir that he himself hadn’t noticed the door had been opened up in his absence.

“This…” Ilir began, when they were a ways into the cold storage area. He turned towards Marko with a long, thin piece of iron in his hands, that he’d picked up on his way in. “Is a crowbar.”

Aware that the boy was building on his joke from before, Marko played along (with sarcasm), “Fascinatin’.”

“Crowbar goes in here.” He rammed it into the lid of a nearby metal crate with some force. “Then, we push on it.” As he did so, with little effort, the crate’s top cracked open and off. Glancing at Marko, the edges of his lips curled ever so slightly. “It looks easy when an Alpha does it, though. My brothers don’t even use a crowbar.”

His mind drifting back to the night he’d left his village, Marko stated, “They use their hands, huh?”

“Yeah, ‘cause they’re freaks.” Ilir replied with wryness. “Just ‘cause they _can_ rip metal up, or break stone with just their hands, doesn’t mean they should. Šćepan does it ‘cause he’s too lazy to even pick up a tool first, and Vuk just does it to show off.”

Marko watched him as he reached out and lifted the crate’s lid off. “Ya think? He seems kinda reserved, so I never really thought of him as showy.”

“You think he moves big-ass rocks around all day for any other reason than to show off his strength?”

After tapping his foot as he thought about it, Marko answered, “I thought it was ‘cause he wanted to help build homes.”

“It’s a perk.”

As the boy started unloading a couple of smaller, wooden boxes from inside the crate, Marko gave his words some further processing. Ilir was passing judgement on Vuk then, yet when Marko had spoken of his true intentions at the docks before, the young Alpha had defended his brother’s trust. “I don’t think ya really believe that.” Though the look he received was on the incredulous side, he continued, “I uh, don’t know your brother as well as you do, but pretty much all he seemed to care about was our wellbein’.”

“‘Our’?”

“Yeah - our. We, us. Alphas, Omegas.” He motioned with his hand between the two of them.

Without missing a beat, Ilir droned, “He’s still a dick about it.”

Marko found he couldn’t argue with him there. As he began to help him unload and stack the wooden boxes up outside of the crate, he decided to change the subject. “Er, so, the friend ya mentioned - who is she?”

Ilir shrugged. “Just a friend. She runs a pawn shop over in the centre, so she’s always busy, but when she gets chance she comes to see Mr. Adnan. I guess she’s kinda more like his friend, but…” He rubbed his nose a bit. “She seems to really like me for some reason. She’s fun to talk to. She gets to see a bunch of people every day, so she’s always got stories to tell.”

“Is that why ya think she’ll be able to send people my way?”

“If anyone can, I think it’d be her.”

Despite what he’d asked, Marko was left with more questions about the mystery friend than before. He was prepared to continue asking Ilir about her, when a clattering noise startled him out of his thoughts. Staring at the young Alpha, he saw that one of the wooden boxes had slipped from his hands and dropped to the floor ungracefully. Casting a downward look at the palm of his hand, Ilir hissed.

Brow knit, Marko bent over, picked the fallen box up and placed it with the others. He hoped whatever was inside those wooden boxes wasn’t fragile (he wasn’t sure, but nothing made a smashing noise on the way down, so he assumed the contents were still in one piece). “What’d ya do?”

“I think it’s a splinter.”

“Want me to see?”

For a moment, the boy gave him a look akin to one of suspicion. Then, he nodded lightly. His own fingers reaching out and taking ahold of Ilir’s, Marko narrowed his eyes and squinted down at his palm. He lowered his head closer, but could only just see the small incision in the skin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I can’t get a good look in this light.” The single hanging bulb of the storeroom wasn’t bright enough by itself. “Can I look at it outside?”

They left the storeroom, and in the pale morning haze, Marko was able to see the splinter with clarity. Lodged under the skin, it was just starting to swell with a pinkish tint at the edges. He started to consider what could be done; as the splinter was beneath the skin, it couldn’t be removed simply by pulling it out. Marko would have to break the wound and yank it out with tweezers, as well as use disinfectants.

He rubbed at his chin as he asked Ilir, “Is there a first aid kit ‘round here?”

“There’s one on the ship.”

That didn’t seem like a viable option - Marko still didn’t want to step aboard the ship. The funny taste in his mouth returned. “I can take it out at the clinic instead. I uh, don’t wanna waste the ship’s first aid stuff. They might need it when they’re out at sea.”

Ilir didn’t look thrilled at the prospect of having to trek back to the stronghold so soon. “Can we go when we’re done here, instead? I can live with the pain.”

Whilst Marko wasn’t convinced he allowed it, but spent the rest of the morning with a careful eye on the boy. He held up, not dropping any more boxes, nor did he seem affected by any pain he might have been feeling. Though he tried to be subtle about it, continuing to help the unloading of the crates as before, Ilir noticed the sidelong glances of caution he was taking eventually.

“You don’t have to keep worrying about me.” He sounded exasperated. “It’s just a splinter.”

With a slight shrug, Marko lied, “Just makin’ sure ya don’t drop any more boxes.”

“I don’t believe you.” Was the blunt reply.

At that, Marko snorted through his nose. “Ya don’t have to believe me, I guess.”

Eyes flickering downwards to the stack of boxes, Ilir crinkled his face a little. “Just cut it out.”

“Ya really don’t like it when people’re concerned about ya, huh?” Marko muttered. When Ilir didn’t respond, he added, “I get why. I sorta can’t help it, though.” He tried giving him a coy smile. “Kinda had it drilled into me when I was a kid.”

The boy was quiet for a little longer until he asked, “Did you wanna be a medic?”

“I wanted to be Weapons tech, actually.” He’d had no choice in the matter, but Ilir must have known that, so he didn’t mention it.

“At least Omegas did different stuff, though. We were told we’d be cannon fodder, and that’d be that.” The young Alpha said, with a tone that was remarkably nonchalant.

That was true - on both accounts, neither were given a choice as to what role they would take; but whereas Omegas could have had one of various jobs, Alphas had been raised from birth to be foot soldiers.

“S’not like that any more, though.” Marko said. “We’re free. We can do whatever we want.”

With seriousness, Ilir replied, “We’re not free.”

“You’re kinda pedantic, aren’t ya?” Half-smiling still, Marko added, “Ya know what I mean.”

Before Ilir could respond to that, a voice came from the entrance of the storeroom, “Hey, kiddo, you’re not slacking off, are you?”

Two of the crew members wandered in, one of them giving Ilir a playful nudge in the shoulder on his way past.

Pouting, Ilir rubbed at this shoulder. “I’ve been working my ass off all morning.”

At this, the man who’d nudged him laughed. “Well, good. Maybe you don’t really need our help, then.” As he said this, his companion picked up the crowbar Ilir had been using earlier, and began to yank a nearby crate open. Then, the man who had spoken looked in Marko’s direction. “You’re Marko, right? The Captain says he wants to speak to you.”

That sounded a little troubling. What could Sadık have wanted to say to him? Was it anything to do with him being there at the docks? Marko couldn’t help but ask, “Did he say why?”

“Nah, just that he’s waiting for you on the ship. Want me to show you where to go?”

As much as Marko wanted to accept that offer, he also didn’t, purely because it meant he’d have to step aboard the _Sultan_. Feeling his face turning pale, and perhaps a little green, he gave a dull answer, “Uh, he really wants me to go on there?”

“Yeah?” The man was puzzled. “Is that a problem?”

Marko’s eyes darted towards Ilir, who was also giving him a questioning look. Glancing back at the crew member, he told him, “Well, I really gotta keep an eye on Ilir.”

Once Marko had said that, the young Alpha scoffed with a scowl, “I’m not gonna leave this place. You don’t have to watch me every single moment of the day.”

Marko swore inwardly, not knowing how to wriggle his way out of the situation otherwise. He supposed he didn’t have much of a choice, though - he couldn’t rebuff Sadık’s request to speak to him. Reminding himself that the ship was docked and the waters were calm made him feel somewhat better, though not entirely, and with a disinclined mutter, he agreed, “Eh, alright.”

The man lead him out of the storeroom, across the jetty and up the walkway leading onto the ship. When they stepped on the walkway - which was a single, flat piece of metal balanced above the gap between ship and jetty to form a bridge - it sounded as if it might buckle underneath their weight.

Although Marko wasn’t too concerned about the fact the walkway could have been unstable and have thrown one or both of them into the water below, the man, casting a glance back at him, said, “Ah, don’t worry too much about this thing.” Once Marko had climbed onto the ship’s deck, the man gave the sheet of metal a few firm taps with his heel. “I know it looks like a flimsy piece of junk, but it’s never given out before.”

As Marko hadn’t said anything, he figured he must have looked off-put, or worse. He just wished it _was_ because of the walkway.

The deck was made of a much sturdier metal. Noticing that the ship’s buoyancy didn’t seem to be having too bad of an effect on him straight away, Marko attempted to fix the troubled appearance that had brought about the crew member’s comment. So as to distract his mind from any thoughts that might make that more difficult, he began to eye the wrists of the other man as he guided him along the deck, dawdling behind at a safe enough distance that what he was doing wasn’t obvious. None of Sadık’s associates seemed to be much older than Marko himself, but he hadn’t recognised any of their faces from the program. Were they humans, then? He wondered how they’d gained an Alpha as their Captain in the space of only four years. Had they been a crew beforehand, and Sadık was the newcomer, or had they all been strangers at some point? Unfortunately, that crew member wore a long-sleeved jacket that covered his wrists too well, and so from appearances alone, Marko’s questions went unanswered.

They headed below deck and down a plain and dank, yet somehow also clean corridor. It was narrow, low-ceilinged and had a vague smell of rust and disinfectant. Whilst trying not to add claustrophobia to his list of problems, Marko was directed into a room off the end of the corridor.

As he entered, he caught sight of the white mask, and the glinting behind it. Though, Marko wasn’t sure where in that room to look first. Leaving an empty corridor and entering there was like stepping into a different place altogether as soon as the threshold was crossed. Asides from the wooden desk, piled up with papers and what may have been navigational tools, the windowless room was lit by a shaded floor lamp in the nearest corner. This light cast a glow over the walls adorned with intricate fabric hangings, catching in their metallic threads. Marko had never seen anything quite like them; they weren’t a product of Utopia, that was for sure - he doubted even the King had decor like that.

Sadık wasn’t seated behind the desk; instead, he was lounging with a cigarette on a sofa next to the lamp. When he saw Marko, his lips formed something akin to a half-smile, and he rose from his seat, releasing a smokey breath. Without seeing his eyes, it was hard to tell what he was thinking, but he spoke with relative seriousness and so Marko wasn’t sure what to make of his statement, “Got a present for you, kid.”

It almost seemed foreboding. It didn’t help the lump in Marko’s stomach.

Watching Sadık as he crossed the room to his desk, Marko commented with as much normalcy in his voice as he could manage, “How’d ya know it was my birthday?”

“Call it a hunch.” Sadık replied, noticing that Marko had spoken in jest. With the cigarette between his teeth, he picked something up from the part of his desk obscured by the stacks of papers. Marko only realised that _something_ was _many_ things when the Alpha had made his way back to him: a wad of _ducat_ notes. After he’d flicked through the top few, he yanked them off the pile and presented them to Marko. “Here ya go. ‘Happy birthday’.”

Marko’s hand twitched, but he couldn’t help but keep his arms firmly by his sides as he stared at the money, a little taken aback, to say the least. It didn’t look like a vast sum but he was utterly confused as to why he was being gifted any amount of money in the first place - until Sadık clarified a few moments later.

“I figured you could use some clothes of your own.” As he explained, the Alpha’s tone softened. “This should cover it.”

“Is this ‘cause of the scent?” Marko found himself asking, even though it may have had less than gracious implications. Despite his words, he was flattered that someone had wanted to help him out with that predicament, minor as it was, all things considered. Vuk’s clothes were fine, but there was only so long a period of time that Marko could borrow from him before it became strange to do so. And it seemed his stay in the stronghold was going to be more permanent than he had hoped at first, after all.

Sadık snorted with laughter. “You got me.”

Even though the Alpha seemed to take the suggestion in good spirits, the fact that Vuk’s scent bothered him so much continued to plague Marko. Something must have happened between the two of them, as Vuk hadn’t spoken favourably of Sadık. However, Tolys’s reaction to the man indicated that opinion may have been one that several people shared. Marko tried to put those thoughts on hold as he thanked the Alpha, not wanting to appear legitimately ungrateful for the gift, but they sprung to mind once more when he’d stepped off the ship and had returned to the storage unit, the _ducats_ (that he’d still yet to count the value of) stowed safely in his pocket.

It wasn’t just how Vuk and Tolys reacted to Sadık that played on Marko’s mind, it was how Sadık had reacted to seeing Marko’s face earlier that morning, in addition to the nagging familiarity of the Alpha’s ‘condition’. No matter a person’s generosity, handing out more than a few spare coins as a charitable gesture was, under normal circumstances, reserved for those familiar - close, even - to someone. Marko’s teeth began to grit hard the longer and more frustrating the sequence of thoughts became. Did he know Sadık? Did Sadık know him? He was sure he’d be able to remember someone like that. And if he had known him, and he only remembered his injured eyesight alone - why had he forgotten everything else?

Ilir didn’t question why Marko had been called onto the ship at first. Nor for the rest of the time they spent in the storage unit. By early afternoon, one of the crew members dismissed them, and only then did the matter arise. Whilst Marko had assumed at first Ilir hadn’t cared much about what Sadık had wanted him for, it seemed he wanted to bring it up when the rest of the crew weren’t in earshot instead.

“You look constipated.” The young Alpha said, out of nowhere, when they’d started strolling back along the sea wall.

The abrupt statement cut through Marko’s thoughts, which had been a constant nuisance since he’d left the ship. “Huh?”

Ilir frowned, creasing his brow heavily. He motioned to his face and, holding the expression, replied, “You look like this.”

At that, Marko tried to ease his own expression. His jaw was starting to hurt. “Better?”

With a nod, Ilir asked, “Did Mr. Adnan say something that bothered you? You got quiet after you came back from the ship.”

Marko wasn’t sure he could avoid the truth. Ilir had already been annoyed with him for lying once that day. “Nah. He didn’t really say much at all.” Hands in his pockets, he eyed the view over the blockade between their path and the sea. Breaks of pale blue hung in the cloudy sky, mottled with long beams of golden light where the sun tried to make its presence known. For mid-winter, it was a mild afternoon. “He… Wanted to give me some money, to buy clothes with. He can scent your brother on these. Must bother him.” He tugged on the collar of his shirt as an indication.

Ilir’s mouth formed a hard line as he scrunched his expression up, “Seriously? He gave you _money_?” When he had considered the confused face that Marko made, along with the pause in the conversation taken, he clarified, “We don’t really ever pay for clothes.”

Not receiving much insight from Ilir’s simple statement, Marko pressed in a lower tone, “Whaddya mean, ya don’t pay for ‘em?” He had an inkling he knew the answer to that, but he wasn’t wholly certain. “You steal ‘em, ya mean?”

With a light shrug, the young Alpha replied, “My brother was probably letting you borrow his clothes ‘til he found a good time to do that.” He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets; it seemed the chill of the air was starting to affect him as he shivered a little whilst doing so. “It’d be kinda hard to get a bunch of clothes for you all at once, though. Guess you could’ve used donations, too.”

“‘Donations’, huh?” There was scepticism in Marko’s voice, and when Ilir picked up on it and shot him a cold look, he snickered beneath his breath.

“Yeah. Donations.” Frowning, Ilir continued, “From the Church. When the elite decide they don’t want their old or tattered clothes any more, they can hand stuff over to them.”

As Marko already knew such a system was in place, and had been for at least as long as he could remember, he mused, “Thought that was purely for the dirt poor.”

For a moment, Ilir eyed Marko’s face, before fixing his gaze on the path ahead. “Yeah, so the amount we get’s pretty limited.” With bitterness, he huffed, “Not like any of us want the dirty scraps of the elite, anyway.”

Receiving donated clothes would have been pointless considering the gift of the money, but the conversation did pose the question of exactly how he was going to spend it. Unless Utopia had changed drastically over the four years he’d spent in The North, clothing shops of any description couldn’t be found outside of the centre. And showing his face around the centre, so soon after he’d slid free of the authorities’ grip… His stomach twisted at the idea. If just one automata were to catch him in its scanner, all hell could have broken loose.

After returning to inside the walls, they crossed the length of the stronghold to reach the clinic. Ilir still seemed reluctant, uncaring about the splinter in his hand, and Marko had to insist he get it looked at. Whilst earlier in the day, Marko had implied he’d tend to the small wound himself, there was something else he still had to take care of there. After clearing the barren hallways of the clinic until they’d reached an off-duty medic on the ward, Marko apologised to Ilir and asked to be pointed in the direction of where the supervisor was. He left the not-too-thrilled looking Ilir behind, letting him know he was going to return home once his business was finished there. And following a brief conversation with the supervisor, he did just that.

Marko had been relieved to find the supervisor didn’t appear to care too much about him not working at the clinic. If anything, he was probably glad to be rid of someone he couldn’t fit into the rotor properly. And as he lay in bed that night, waiting to drop off to sleep, thoughts of his village in The North returned to his mind once more, as they tended to do at that time. _The clinic here’s overstaffed, but without me, the village has no one._

Closing his eyes as he turned on his side, pulling the sheets tight over his shoulder, he heard a faceless voice mutter in the back of his mind; _‘One of the mountain villages lost their resident doctor recently. The higher-ups keep getting requests for a replacement, but none of the elite docs want it.’_

 _‘Can’t blame ‘em.’_ Another voice said. _‘You’d have to be a real idiot to swap a cushy life in the centre for The North.’_

Neither spoke with great clarity, and they weren’t familiar to Marko. Just a fragmented memory - medics he’d encountered once, many years ago - but he couldn’t recall what circumstances it had been under. Only that they conversed with one another, not towards him, and that it was their words that had ultimately guided him to Andersen’s village, masquerading as the human doctor they’d pleaded for.

Their continual musings on The North abridged, the second of them sighed, _‘Whatever, I can’t stand around all day talking about this. Weapons tech finished up the prosthetic, so we’re finally gonna work on the blinded Alpha today.’_

As the words played through Marko’s mind again, his eyes shot open. _The prosthetic… The blinded Alpha._

He remembered.


	15. Chapter 15

Any spare moments in which Marko was free to think, he spent trying to formulate a string of words, with which he could indicate to Sadık, one way or another, he had an inkling he’d met him before.

Whenever his conversations with Ilir or the crew members died off during his hours working away in the storage unit, that was when he’d consider it. In doing so, he’d fret about it; he expected Sadık to wander in there at some point, and Marko could somehow envision himself trying to bring the matter up with the Alpha and saying the wrong thing, or not being able to speak of it at all… Though it might have been for wholly different reasons, he was starting to understand why the man was considered intimidating.

But on the second day, Sadık didn’t show up at the unit at all. Marko wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or frustrated, knowing the Alpha was on the ship and probably either dealing with administrative matters, or kicking back and smoking as he’d found him the morning before.

Though he was there to accompany Ilir, Marko found that day that he spoke casually with the crew members more than the quieter young Alpha. Even in such a grim, rusting setting, they were jovial as carried out their tasks at hand; making jokes at one another’s expense, and chattering away but not actually saying an awful lot - they were an ordinary close-knit group of friends.

Upon arriving in the unit after an absence the day before, the man with the facial rash had expressed particular gratitude towards Marko, introducing himself as Kassim and (despite the fact he had a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face) mentioning the medicinal lotion was helping with his ailment. He was a young man, more than likely the youngest of the crew; when he spoke of his blistered skin, his crew mates overheard and poked fun at it, claiming it to be the reason he wasn’t yet married. As the time passed, Marko learnt that the others had families - wives, young children, aging parents and siblings - in the stronghold. They spoke fondly of them, and how they looked forward to returning to them after long, arduous journeys to the Eastern States. They spoke of what they’d be doing in their free time, and whether their next trip across the sea would be anything like their last. Not once, however, did they bring up their absent captain.

Close to the time Marko and Ilir were due to finish for the day, a light yet raspy voice was carried in the breeze through the unit’s open door, “Afternoon...” At first, they addressed the nearest crew member, and so (as evidently they sounded too youthful to be Sadık), Marko thought nothing of it until they continued, “Was told there’s an Omega here who’s a medic.”

At that, Marko craned his neck to get a look at the figure stood upon the threshold, remembering the guise he’d conjured up to get out there. Why else would anyone have asked for someone so specifically, other than to find him for that reason? The voice belonged to a short young man, whose features were blurred, the pallid afternoon light giving him a silhouette-like appearance. Once he’d placed down the box he was handling, Marko approached. The people that knew of him working there were far and few between, and so whilst wondering who had passed the information along already, he mustered a small smile. “If you’re lookin’ for the medic, that’d be me.”

When Marko stood in front of the newcomer and could get a better look at him, he found that he was much shorter than he’d anticipated. His skin was bronzed and his hair, a soft brown colour, was cropped. Hooded and rounded, his dark eyes gave an impression of youth, but in spite of his looks he wasn’t a child, and instead there was an air of maturity about him. Maturity, and yet, somehow, there was a youthful naivety there, too. When his gaze fell upon Marko, his stern expression didn’t waver.

He was direct in his request, “Wanna talk to you about something. If that’s okay.”

Assuming it couldn’t have been anything other than a medical issue, Marko directed the brunet towards the end of the jetty, following after him with his hands stuffed into his coat pockets. Though the days had grown a little milder, it was still cold enough out that he looked forward to returning to a warm house with eagerness.

Out of curiosity, he asked, “Who told ya I was here, by the way? I didn’t think many people knew just yet.”

“Vuk did.” Standing upright, the young man faced Marko and spoke coolly, chin raised in what was perhaps an attempt to match Marko’s height, “Name’s Sergio. I have a workshop in the walls where I forge and modify weapons. Vuk’s one of my clients. He let me know there was an Omega medic here.” He frowned, breaking their eye contact and turning his attention to the lapping waters nearby.

Marko almost let his feeling of flattery that Vuk had been mentioning him to others, in what must have been a positive light no less, override his need to respond to the brunet, “So, there’s somethin’ ya wanna ask? And it’s medical-related, right?”

Without looking back at him, Sergio lifted the left sleeve of his jacket. His slender wrist beneath was imprinted with the telltale black **ω**. “Vuk said you’re like me. You take suppressants, too.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Marko replied, only taking a brief look at the tattoo before his eyes were back on the other’s face. So, the young man was a Weapons tech Omega? Compelled as he was to let him know of his envy, Marko kept quiet.

Following a short pause, Sergio released a strained sigh, his eyelids shutting. “I’ve taken ‘em ever since the program ended. But now, the medics at the clinic won’t let me have any more.” The first emotion began to rise in his tone: frustration. “I... Need ‘em.”

Marko was hesitant to say anything to that. It made sense after four years he’d be denied any more suppressants - it was a foolishly long time to have been taking them for, and were he not doing the exact same thing himself, Marko may have been inclined to scold a young Omega for putting his health at risk. He cleared his throat a bit. “Why’s that? Y’know it’s a bad idea to take ‘em long term, right?” Feeling almost as if he were addressing himself with those words, left him a tad discomforted. “How old’re you, Sergio?”

The brunet let his hands dangle by his sides. “Nineteen.”

_He wasn’t even at the age of maturity when they started giving him them?_ With a low hum, Marko gave it some thought. It was unclear whether the suppressants might have had permanent growth effects on younger Omegas, so they were almost always reserved for those over eighteen. His age meant that he wouldn’t have been assigned an Alpha either, but that didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t met one since the end of the program. “There must’ve been a good reason they let ya have ‘em so young, huh?”

Sergio swallowed. “Yeah. There was.”

A short silence followed, in which Marko expected the other to elaborate, but no such explanation came. He cleared his throat. “Wanna tell me what it was?”

Upfront, with a half-squinted glower that reminded Marko a little bit of Ilir, Sergio replied, “No.”

The singular answer came as a surprise, to say the least, and Marko felt his face twist into a frown that showed it. He couldn’t remember ever being consulted and then being refused a simple request for more information; humans weren’t nearly as fickle, but then, they didn’t quite have the same baggage Omegas did. Presumably the reason was personal, but without knowing the background there wasn’t a lot he could do about the other’s situation.

“I, uh… Can’t really help ya, then.” He said with an air of caution.

“Please!” The brunet’s voice raised, his eyebrows and teeth tensing like his shoulders. And again, he repeated with a desperation and a realisation of the sudden break in his composure that made Marko feel something akin to pity, “ _Please_.” Lowering his head and breaking their eye contact, he released a breath, “This’s my last resort.” He raked a hand backwards through his hair, and as he did so, Marko noticed he was shaking ever so slightly. “Vuk said you’d help me, for sure.”

As the flattery returned, Marko then became unsure of his answer. Vuk thought well enough of him to, despite his nature, say something even vaguely nice about him to someone he’d never met until that day; ‘he is like you and will sympathise’, perhaps. He suppressed a smile, balling his somehow sweaty hands into fists for a moment. All Sergio was doing was stating what he’d been told by Vuk but it was an unintentional blandishment. At least, Marko _assumed_ it was unintentional.

But as he started to reconsider, he realised that it wasn’t really because Sergio had name dropped - it was because he was more or less begging for help. There was a vulnerability about him, one that he clearly was trying to cover with a straight face but wasn’t doing particularly well at, and as much as Marko tried to think better of it, it was clouding his judgement.

The brunet’s body continued to shiver and Marko then asked, “Are ya cold?”

“I’m fine.”

Marko’s lips twitched into a passive smile as he replied, matter-of-factly, and without really considering it first, “Ya don’t look fine.” Sergio then gave him another unimpressed look, and a couple of moments later Marko concluded he probably shouldn’t have said that, or at least, he shouldn’t have said it the way he had. It did feel like he was speaking to Ilir, though they weren’t very similar at all in terms of presence, but not only was Sergio past the age of maturity, he was troubled. Condescendingness, even without ill intent, was probably not appreciated. “Uh, well, I sure am cold, myself, so…” Giving the back of his neck a rub with his clammy fingers, he attempted to ease the awkwardness off. “Where d’ya live? If it’s in the walls, I can come visit ya to talk about this later.”

All the compromise did was make Sergio’s brow crinkle further. He grew off-standish, “I don’t want to talk about anything - I want your help!” As if startled by his own outburst, he recoiled a little and the short-lived desperation from before returned, dark eyes darting away from Marko’s face. “... _Please_.”

He hated to admit it, but the little begged ‘pleases’ appealed to Marko’s better nature. Once more he felt like he was inadvertently treating Sergio as a younger child, one that he’d _made_ to say ‘please’ out of good manners (and the way Sadık had told Cemil to speak in such a way to the doorman a couple of days before came to mind, somehow). _Am I getting old, or something?_ He mused whilst raking the hand previously on his neck through his hair. Trying then to focus his thoughts onto Sergio’s issue again, he gave a reply that betrayed his feelings, “Sorry, I can’t do anythin’ that might end up causin’ ya harm.”

Sergio’s figure steadily straightened up and he breathed deeply. The following silence was filled by the breaking of the seawater against the jetty rang. Then the young Omega snapped his head away with a frustrated hiss, and turned his body as well after. He began to walk away, muttering just loud enough for Marko to hear, “In that case, forget I asked.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tatjana was at home that afternoon. Šćepan, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found - not that Marko was looking, but it wouldn’t have made much of a difference to him if the Alpha was out and about, or sleeping in his bed upstairs.

Ilir had wanted to take a bath, which left Marko the option of helping Tatjana with stacking away the dishes she’d cleaned, or taking a nap and leaving her to do it by herself. Sore as his hands had been made from handling crates since morning, he decided to take on the task that Šćepan wouldn’t have even if he had been present.

Tatjana wiped sink water from each dish with a cloth before handing them over to Marko to put in their rightful cupboard. She seemed appreciative, but that was all he noted. They didn’t hold a conversation, as Marko’s mind was, as usual, occupied. Next to the lingering concern of the fact HQ would still be after him, there was the money Sadık had given him and if he was actually supposed to use it, and now on top of that, the guilt he felt about rejecting Sergio’s plea for help. And so he worked subconsciously, taking a clean dish from Tatjana and returning it to the cupboard - like clockwork, like how an automata would probably stack away dishes, were one ever programmed to do so. He realised this, briefly. _That sure would’ve been nice, automata programmed to be useful, instead of butchering and scaring the shit outta people._ Rumour had it that such technology existed in the Eastern States and the world beyond: robotic helpers created to aid, not destroy… Was it really a rumour, or the truth? _Sadık goes to the Eastern States all the time, wouldn’t he have seen them?_ And with that thought, his mind bounced back to the money.

Then the trail broke completely. He stared down at his hand, void of a dish, though he was grabbing at the spot in the air where Tatjana had been passing them along. He blinked and eyed her sidelong. She was staring back, arms folded with a satisfied smile. The sink was empty.

“...Oh.”

Much to his relief, Tatjana merely seemed happy that the washing was done; if she had noticed his head had been in the clouds (which he doubted), there was no indication of it. “Thanks!” She chirped.

“Eh… Don’t mention it.” Marko replied, though it was dulled by the fact he was still coming back to reality.

He watched her smile drop into a pensive expression, and she brought a hand to her chin, studying his face. For a moment he thought she was going to say something about how he’d been absorbed in his thoughts after all. Her actual words were much different. “You haven’t shaved in a while, have you?”

Lifting his hand to his face, almost mirroring Tatjana’s actions, Marko touched at the skin around his jaw. He’d been away from home for over a week. In that time, he’d been dragged across The North and resettled in the stronghold, and so caring about his appearance hadn’t been a priority for him. He’d come there with next to nothing; he wouldn’t have even had a toothbrush if Tatjana hadn’t kept spares around for cleaning shoes with (she’d sworn it wasn’t one she’d used before, but he had checked the bristles with great care regardless). Omegas didn’t typically grow thick body hair, and facial hair was even more uncommon, which was among the things the suppressants changed. He’d been twenty-three by the time he could properly drag a razor across his skin without bleeding _too_ much. It was a much harder task to perform on oneself, rather than on a body in preparation for a medical procedure.

“Does it look bad?”

“No, no… You still look like you, too. Just a little more… Hmm....” She tilted her head. “...Manly?”

‘ _You still look like you, too’_ , he repeated to himself. That much was true; Tatjana, Tolys and Sadık had all recognised him. Which reminded him… “By the way, I…” He paused mid-sentence, her words sinking in a little more, “Wait, what’re ya sayin’? I’m not manly to begin with?”

Tatjana giggled. Marko almost felt irritated enough by this to stare blankly at her, but seeing her face lit up, even half-hidden behind the dish cloth, he couldn’t find it in him. He snorted too, shaking his head.

“Well, if you ever want rid of it, I can do that for you. I’ve had lots of practise!” She tossed the dish cloth aside. “I mean it, if I didn’t do Šćepan’s for him, he’d have probably suffocated by now.”

The idea of having Tatjana more or less hold a sharp blade to his throat was only made to sound good when Marko considered it could have been any of the three brothers giving it a shot instead. “Thanks.” By that point, he’d almost forgotten what he was going to ask. As Tatjana moved around him with a spring in her step to close the cupboard on the clean dishes, he shifted out of her way and cleared his throat. “Uh… Hey, y’know that Adnan guy?”

Marko wasn’t sure if he was just seeing things, but he could have sworn Tatjana went slightly rigid for a moment, before she glanced over her shoulder, still with a smile. “Hm? What about him?”

_I like_ _ **his**_ _beard,_ he almost said, because part of him was reluctant to bring anything more up. “It’s uh… It’s funny, what ya said just now, about me still lookin’ like me.” He shifted the weight between his feet. “Meanin’ that ya recognised me when ya first saw me, even with the stubble, right?” The look of anticipation she gave him forced the words out of his mouth, “I think Adnan knew me, somehow, from the program. But I don’t remember _him_ at all.”

Again, Tatjana was very still, which indicated to Marko it hadn’t been a fluke the first time. She looked strangely deep in thought. “Mr. Adnan was a very active Alpha in The South. Pretty high ranked, too. Maybe you operated with him and just…” She shrugged. “Forgot?”

Had that been the case, as an Omega working with a senior Alpha, it would have been more likely for Marko to have remembered Sadık, not the other way around. But the one thing he did remember neither confirmed nor ruled out that possibility.

He tried to recall the fragmented voices of the medics once again in that moment: what they had said, and why he’d been there to hear them say it… If only he could have remembered the latter, then there was a chance everything would have come together.

“Maybe…” Marko mumbled. He couldn’t rule what she’d suggested out, but something still didn’t fit. He sighed through his nose. Asking Tatjana probably wasn’t going to get him many answers - what he should have been doing was bringing it up with Sadık, himself. Still, as he studied her face for a moment, he pondered if it would help just to confide in her. “Kinda wanna bring it up to him, y’know? But…” He rested his backside against a nearby countertop. “...Somethin’s... Stoppin’ me.”

She blinked. “What is it?”

“Dunno.” Marko ran his tongue over his bottom lip, noting for a fleeting moment that it was chapped from the cold. He didn’t think himself easily intimidated by any means but there was something about Sadık, or rather, the part of Marko that was trying to remember Sadık, that didn’t sit right with him. But he couldn’t put his finger on _why_ , and the more he thought about it, the more it frustrated him.

“Maybe you’re just imagining things? You’ve been through a lot lately, being chased down from The North and all.” Tatjana smiled, but it was strained. “If he remembers you, he’d have said something, right?”

Recalling the way the Alpha’s face had changed, looking upon him on the jetty the morning before last, and the way he had said ‘ _you’_ , almost in an accusatory manner, Marko shook his head. “He sorta did…” _And then he started acting real nice, and gave me money for nothing…_ There was no way it was all in his mind. “He just didn’t elaborate. Didn’t tell me where he knew me from, or why.” He huffed a little. “Kinda wish it _was_ all in my head, that’d be less of a pain in the ass.”

Tatjana’s response was delayed to the point Marko didn’t think she was actually going to say anything more; she had pulled a drawer open and removed an ashtray from within. “Even so, you probably shouldn’t worry too much about it. Worrying gives you wrinkles… My mother used to tell me that a lot.” As she spoke she continued to rummage within the drawer. She took out a plastic packet next, and with the same half-smile as before, glanced back at Marko as she placed herself at the table, “Here, come have a smoke with me. My friend Christiaan gave me this special tobacco from The South.” After opening the packet, she sniffed inside and wrinkled her brow. “Though, I’m not really sure what’s so special about it… It just seems like the plain old stuff to me.”

Marko resigned himself to the table as well, appreciating and accepting the offer, though he was quite certain no amount of ‘special’ tobacco was going to get the problem off his mind.

The ashtray was littered with filter ends some hours later, when Tatjana left her seat to start preparing dinner. Before pulling a cupboard open she craned her head to peer out of the kitchen window. Outside, the stone of the dwellings nearby was deepening in the turn of the evening. She glanced up at the clock, and as he was watching her actions, Marko inadvertently did the same. It was a little past five, and he could guess what she was thinking before she spoke of it.

“They’re late.”

Ilir, who had joined them at the table after his bath, lifted his head from the cigarette he was rolling on Marko’s behalf (he lacked the dexterity to do it fast or well, which might have been down to soreness in his hands from work, but he seemed to be happy to do so, so Marko let him). “They probably went to get a drink after finishing.”

With a huff, Tatjana yanked a cutting block out of the cupboard. “Well, would you go and find them? They shouldn’t be drinking before dinner anyway.”

Stopping mid-way between rolling up a paper, Ilir frowned. “Why should I? It’s not even that late.”

Before Tatjana could reply, Marko cleared his throat. He’d hardly been there a week and yet he’d already grown weary of the family’s quarrelling, despite telling himself it was probably something he’d have to get used to eventually. “I’ll go.” He told Tatjana, as he rose from his seat and cracked the small of his back. “Could use a walk. I’ve been sat on my ass for the past few hours.”

After leaving the warmth of the kitchen for the bitter evening outside, Marko plodded down the stairwell and onto the street below. Only then did he realise that asides from the building site, where they might not actually have been, he didn’t know where to start looking for Vuk and Šćepan. Ilir had mentioned they could have gone drinking, but he also wasn’t sure how serious the young Alpha had been about that. He glanced at the large front gate of the walls in the distance, noting that it was open, and wondered if they’d left the stronghold. A concerning thought… Vuk was still wanted by HQ, as well.

He took a brief look back up at their home, but chose not to go back and ask where to look. After all, he’d wanted a walk, not just to stretch his legs but to help clear his mind, too. Though Tatjana and Ilir were good company, he’d failed to smoke away his troubles with them.

Wandering westward to the open gate, he sucked in deep, soothing breaths of the cold air, until his lungs began to hurt. _I feel like a zombie_ , he said to himself; even disregarding the weight on his mind, his steps were lumbering and his arms were still sore.

A small, sparse thread of labourers were making their way back through the open doors sluggishly, one by one. Upon passing Marko as he stood some yards from the passage, they would either give him a glance of indifference or ignore him entirely, which he supposed was preferable to the suspicious gazes he’d been getting earlier on in the week. Beyond the wooden barriers were the steel structures and city lights of the centre in the distance, a contrast he still found bizarre. The stronghold may have been of great comfort to some but realistically it was nothing but a flimsy cage, hashed together with old materials. HQ had the power to raze it down and remove the wanted criminals inside... So why wouldn’t they?

_I’ve seen them set entire settlements alight before._ In the back of his mind he heard sharp shrieks, and smelt oil and burning, and his skin began to crawl. _What’s stopping them? The Alphas?_

Remembering what he was supposed to be doing out there, Marko leaned his head back towards the shadowy figures of the door operatives up top. Cupping at his face with his hands he shouted, “ _HEY!_ Did Vuk and Šćepan come through here!?”

There was a delayed response as someone moved to look over the side at him before calling back, “Haven’t seen ‘em!”

Despite the fact it put his mind at ease to know they hadn’t left the stronghold, it was also a little frustrating. The only other place Marko thought to look was the building site, and no doubt the brothers had left there before the sky had started to grow dark. So he considered Ilir’s suggestion first.

Jogging to catch up with a worn-looking man that had stepped through the gates, he spoke up, “Uh - s’cuse me? Where d’you guys drink in here?”

The labourer was disgruntled and shrugged him off, not stopping to give his reply, “Where the hell d’ya think you are? Go to the centre if ya wanna get hammered.”

If possible, Marko was less appreciative of the fact that hadn’t answered his question than being scorned by the man. He rolled his eyes and exhaled loud enough to hopefully be heard.

An equally-shabby looking woman passed him, uncertainty upon her face; she too didn’t come to a halt as she spoke, “He means there’s no bars in here.” She told him upfront. “If you’re looking for the Mišić boys, try the main hall.”

“Oh… Thanks.” He watched her step away and considered if her advice was actually of any use. It was more than he could have hoped for, at least, from people who weren’t the slightest bit interested in giving him the time of day. _What’s with everyone here having a huge stick up their backside, anyway?_

He’d heard nothing of the main hall that day, so he’d had no reason to believe Vuk and Šćepan might have taken a detour there on their way back from the building site earlier. Tatjana also would have brought it up, had she known. He guessed there was some kind of impromptu event happening - that, or the woman had mentioned it because she knew they hung around there a lot.

Much to Marko’s relief, after traversing the length of the main road, guided by the flickering streetlights and the faint chatter coming from the most populous area of the stronghold, he caught sight of a large, broad-shouldered figure up ahead. Šćepan was at a standstill at the very end of the road, propped up against a wall with his weight resting on his forearm. Even when Marko drew very close to him, he didn’t seem to notice he was there - his focus was straight ahead, and when the short-lived gladness of finding one of the brothers wore off, Marko was instantly curious as to what it was he was so fixated on.

“Hey… I uh, I think…” Marko began, though Šćepan still didn’t even so much as glance at him. Peering forwards as well, he caught sight of Vuk in the open paved square some yards away, speaking with someone he didn’t recognise. “...I think Tatjana expected ya home some time ago.”

Šćepan shrugged. “We got sidetracked.” He didn’t look or smell or sound like he’d been drinking, but Marko wasn’t certain there would have been much of a difference from his regular state even if he had been.

“D’ya go to the main hall? Someone said ya might be there.”

After making a snorting noise, Šćepan answered, “Nah, the building planners just had us doing some extra shit after hours. Then _he_ showed up.” His free hand motioned towards the two he was watching.

Vuk’s conversational partner was shorter and slimmer than the Alpha, with a bob of hair that looked yellow in the streetlight. For a moment Marko thought it might have been Janez, but on further inspection he wasn’t lanky enough. His face also wasn’t visible, his back turned to them as he stood in close proximity to Vuk - who happened to look like he’d rather have been anywhere else at that moment.

“Third one since he got back.” There was a dry humour in Šćepan’s tone, and when Marko peered up at him again, he found a smirk upon his lips. “It’s getting hard to feel sorry for him.”

“What’re ya…?” Marko mumbled, but then he eyed the way the unknown man, hands gently swinging by his rounded hips, had started to bring his face closer to Vuk’s, and the way the Alpha turned his head away at this, raising a hand to push the man back. A strange twisting sensation formed in Marko’s chest. “...S’that an Omega?”

Šćepan snickered, “Not his type, though.”

Transfixed by Vuk’s averted face, Marko expected him to shove the blond Omega away properly and walk off. Instead, the Alpha’s lips moved inaudibly, and too slightly to be read. He could only take a guess at what they were discussing… But actually, he didn’t want to know at all.

“Why the hell’s he just standin’ there, then?” He tore his gaze away to stare up at the taller man beside him.

“He said he had some information for him.” Šćepan replied, without returning the look. “Not that some of ‘em haven’t tried that shit already. If they don’t have something he wants, he won’t give ‘em the time of day.”

Eyes back ahead, Marko felt his hands bunching into fists. The blond Omega seemed to have backed off a little after being pushed away, but they still had yet to part ways. Whilst he was well aware that Vuk could take care of himself, he didn’t know whether to be more concerned over the fact that he wanted to interrupt, no matter what kind of important information the Omega was peddling, or the fact that Šćepan was just standing around doing nothing about it; he even found the sight _amusing_.

“I’ll uh…” Marko sniffed in a breath of cold air and said, “I’ll let Tatjana know you’re on your way.”

Upon returning to the warmth of the kitchen, Marko was greeted with the lingering scent of tobacco and Ilir’s apathetic face. Only when he stepped inside and found he was almost breathless did he realise how quickly he’d made himself get back. His chest was starting to hurt, no doubt because of that.

He shut the cold out and draped his coat on the back of a chair. “They’re comin’ back now.” He told Tatjana, who was stooped over the cutting block with her back to the table.

Midway through chopping an eggplant, she paused to acknowledge him, and then twisted her head towards the closed door. “You didn’t wait for them?”

Marko sucked his teeth. “They were talkin’ to someone… It seemed important. Didn’t wanna bother ‘em.” He settled in the seat he’d claimed with his coat, and eyed the little pile of cigarettes Ilir had rolled in his absence. His fingers had turned stiff in the cold, but still he managed to pick one up. Muttering, “Thanks”, he eyed the nearby lighter and after sliding it in the young Alpha’s direction, offered the end of the cigarette and asked, “Ah… Could ya get that for me, too?”

A frigid draught swept through the kitchen along with Vuk and Šćepan, a short while later. They’d barely shut the door behind them before Vuk locked eyes with Marko and thumbed in the direction of the living room. “You. Omega. In here.”

It was a blunt and sudden outburst, but not quite accusatory. Even so, Marko still didn’t appreciate it. He frowned around the roll between his teeth. “Hello to you, too.” He grumbled, though he did wonder what it was the Alpha wanted. Unlikely as it was, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was something to do with the other Omega. He hadn’t caught sight of Marko when he’d been there, but perhaps his brother had said something... As Šćepan pulled out a chair and slumped down into it, Marko rose from his seat and moved into the living room. Knowing that getting up in the first place defied his annoyance he added, “I got a name, by the way.”

Vuk ignored him and perched on the edge of the couch, briefly peering up at him through the thinner parts of his bangs whilst he reached into the inner breast of his coat. “Here.” He produced a thin, dark leathered pouch.

Staring at the item being held towards him, then back at Vuk, Marko cocked an eyebrow. “For me?” Lifting it out of Vuk’s hold when the Alpha had nodded firmly, he examined the well-crafted pouch with admiration before plucking out its content: a blackened steel knife, curved at one edge with sawtooth grooves at the other. It wasn’t unlike the one Vuk owned; both were fairly standard styles that were used in the program.

“To keep you safe. And my brother.” Vuk held his gaze before reclining in his seat.

Even if it was a pretty run-of-the-mill, he was appreciative. He felt a smile tugging at the edges of his lips, as much as he wanted to remain irritated with the other... As much as the silhouette of the blond Omega pressed at the forefront of his mind.

Just as Marko opened his mouth to speak, the Alpha interrupted, making a dismissive motion with his hand, “I’d have trusted you more with a firearm, but Wang keeps those things so damned regulated, Sergio’d have ratted me out if I’d even just _asked_.”

Showing gratitude for the gift had to wait a little longer. “S’that the same Sergio ya sent to me about his medication?”

Vuk rested against the arm of the couch, and he gave Marko a mildly interested look, “Yeah. He made that knife to order. I put a word in when I was down at his workshop yesterday.”

Guilt continued to fester in Marko’s stomach. He lowered his head a bit as he sighed softly, taking the empty space on the couch. “I couldn’t help him.”

“ _Huh._ Shame.” Vuk replied, but he didn’t sound like he cared all that much, which Marko supposed he should have expected.

“He wouldn’t tell me a lot of the stuff I needed to know, so there wasn’t really anythin’ I could do for him.” Marko explained, aware that he was justifying his choice to himself more than he was to Vuk.

“Whatever. It’s Omega crap, so I don’t really care about it.”

The trace of a smile tugged at the edges of Marko’s lips. After giving the knife another careful look over, he slid it back into its sheath. “Thank you.” He needed clothes, and some idea of what his future looked like - and, according to Tatjana, a shave - but of all things, Vuk had brought him a hand-crafted knife. It was fitting for the Alpha, which Marko found kind of endearing. And even if it wasn’t a necessity, he felt much better about accepting it than he had the money from Sadık - which reminded him… “By the way, I thought--” He managed to stop himself mid-sentence. Vuk was probably the last person he’d want to confide in about the money and a possible trip to the centre. Marko cleared his throat a bit. “I thought about gettin’ some clothes of my own, so I don’t have to borrow yours forever more and all... Ilir told me the churches have donations.”

Vuk made a grunting noise, “What, you wanna walk around in regurgitated elite crap? Gimme a few more days and I’ll get you some clothes of your own.”

“Thanks, but ya probably shelled out already to pay for this.” Marko made a small motion with the knife.

“It didn’t cost a whole bunch. ‘Sides, who said I’d be paying for the clothes?”

Frowning, Marko cast his eyes to the living room door, hoping Tatjana would rear her head around the frame brandishing both her own knife and a disapproving comment. Unfortunately, it seemed no one in the kitchen had overheard. “I’m not lettin’ ya steal for me. Aren’t we both s’posed to be avoidin’ the centre?”

As he expected, Vuk didn’t insist, but was also unhappy with the decision, “Yeah, we’re supposed to be lying low and not leaving the stronghold at all, but you’re already venturing out anyway.” He stared at Marko for a few prolonged moments. “Fine, go get shitty rags from the rich pigs if that’s what you want, but our church inside the walls never has a lotta shit.” He pushed himself out of his seat, the couch creaking beneath beneath him. “There’s one in the factory district that’ll be a better bet. Get Adnan’s cronies to go look for you.”

Marko watched Vuk stretching his arm and released a breath. He wished he’d thought before speaking in the first place, that way he wouldn’t have had to have brought up the matter of the clothes at all. Eyes falling back onto the sheath, he decided to change the subject - he was getting tired of overthinking what he should or shouldn’t do with no clear solution. “By the way… Who was your friend?” The smarting pain in his chest seemed to return as he spoke. “I came lookin’ for you and Šćepan before, but it seemed like you were deep in conversation, so I didn’t wanna interrupt.”

Becoming frigid on his way back to the kitchen, Vuk answered, “It was no one.” And then he added in a mutter, “Just another pain in the ass...”

_A ‘pain in the ass’ that hasn’t just been gifted a commissioned knife._ Marko bit down on the inside of his lip to keep his smile from spreading. Thinking back to how Šćepan had been amused earlier, he wondered briefly if it was for the same reason.


	16. Chapter 16

Every inch of the factory district beyond the docks looked like no man’s land: smoking chimneys and rusting scaffolding, and empty windows like hollowed eyes stretched along the opposite side of the sea wall. Somewhere amongst the blocky buildings and unsightly industrial silos was a church.

Where he was supposed to start looking for said church, Marko didn’t know. It could well have been on the other side of the district entirely. Perhaps he’d have been better off asking one of the _Sultan’s_ crew to go on his behalf. Not only would they actually know where to go, he wouldn’t be putting himself at risk. HQ personnel lurked within the crumbling stone and prefabrication, patrolling for crime with automata in tow. They typically did around those parts; poverty and criminal activity went hand in hand in Utopia. Given what he knew, the stronghold was no exception.

Dawn had yet to break, and wiry lamps still lit the streets ahead. Marko hadn’t slept well at all. He failed to remember when he’d last had a peaceful slumber, there was too much happening, too much that played on his mind. He hadlain in bed with aching eyes, staring at the ceiling. _I need to get all this shit off my mind._ A choice had been made - an impulsive one, but a choice nonetheless. He’d pulled himself out of bed and into a pair of warm jeans and a black t-shirt. Vuk’s taste in clothes was less plain than his own; in picking from his wardrobe for himself he’d always skirted around the more unusual-looking hooded tops and what he could only describe as leather-effect shirts. He’d mused to himself ironically that if Tatjana’s clothes had been big enough, he’d rather have shared hers. Partly to disguise his face, and partly because of the temperatures out, he also wrapped a checkered shawl around his neck and over his mouth.

The money from Sadık was still wedged beneath the mattress, the only safe place he could think of to keep it. He’d put it there the day he’d received it and hadn’t touched it since. The knife gifted to him by Vuk the evening before, however, he plucked up along with a suppressant tablet before he crept out of the room. Preparing to leave the house he was equally as quiet, not wanting to wake anyone else. He washed down the tablet with a mouthful of water and tucked the knife away in the inner breast of his coat, then donned his hood before departing. The stronghold’s streets were as empty and as silent as the sky and, aided by that night’s watchman huddled in his sheets, he slipped out of the back wall’s door without any hindrance.

He didn’t know if he could be back in time for the start of work at the docks, and he doubted his absence would go unnoticed if he was still out during the waking hours. There was also a chance the church hadn’t opened up yet, but he was certain that traversing the factory district was going to be much easier - and safer - before daybreak, when he couldn’t use the long shadows cast upon the buildings to sneak around in, and anyone or anything working for HQ would be less easy to spot and avoid.

_What have I got to be afraid of, anyway?_ Marko didn’t think there could be anything worse waiting for him out there than what he’d faced in The North already. It was just the notion of being caught that he had to overcome, and that was as simple as reminding himself he was prepared to avoid that circumstance. The weight of the knife in his coat seemed to increase his confidence… What use the blade may be was another question, but carrying it with him still brought him a sense of ease, somehow.

One of the lamps ahead clicked and buzzed and its light jittered like a rapid heartbeat. Holding in a breath, Marko took a few steady steps forwards. He cleared the end of the road and then took a turn into a narrow, shaded lane.

Utopian churches often blended into their surroundings, yet were marked with cross shapes above their doors. This was all Marko had to go by in his search; that, and the very little he could remember about the layout of the district from when he’d visited during the program - which was, to say, almost nothing.

As he’d expected, the district was void of most life at that hour, save for a few labourers ending their graveyard shifts and the occasional drunkard he did his best not to make eye contact with, if he couldn’t avoid being seen at all. His hopes of not being bothered remained true, but as he continued on he reminded himself not to let his guard down either.

The stench of ash and sulfur hung around the district like a layer of fog. Whilst it wasn’t unbearable, Marko was relieved that he didn’t have to breathe it in every day; if he hadn’t been a smoker, he was sure that he would have hated the smell of burning, no matter what the fuel was. Only tobacco had a comforting note to it: everything else smelt like death.

Every time he left a road for another side street, he checked over his shoulder, to make sure nothing unexpected was waiting to ambush him. A few distant vehicles could be heard roaming the area, but for long stretches of his walk, everything else was very still, as if frozen in time.

His legs moved, and the streets and buildings came and went, but there came a point where he started to wonder if he’d somehow been going in circles. Between the shabby houses and unsightly factories there was little variety in his surroundings; even the potholes in the roads all looked the same. He couldn’t tell just how long he’d been wandering around for but there was still no sign of the cross he sought.

A sharp pain in his chest brought him to a standstill in a narrow ginnel between two vacant dwellings. He furrowed his brow, clutching a hand to the aching area and inhaling deeply. He’d slept off the same pain yesterday, and he wondered if he was pushing himself too hard, being out in the cold so much after his journey down from The North. _It’s gotta be the cold… It couldn’t be anything else…_ As the ache spread to his ribs and neck, as if someone were kneading the bony heels of their palms into him hard, he grimaced and leant against the wall nearest to him. Though it wasn’t wholly debilitating he decided to stop for a little longer and wait the pain out. Taking long, heated breaths behind the shawl wrap, he started to wish he’d asked someone to go on his behalf after all… Or that there was someone around to ask for directions that wasn’t either suspicious or shitfaced - or both.

With that thought in mind he pressed ahead when the pain subsided a little. Exiting the ginnel he wandered along the residential street to the adjoining road; whilst he was risking returning to full view he knew the likelihood of finding wandering labourers or someone else that may have been willing to help him. But he found the area was empty.

One unit among a row of half a dozen some way down the road had its lights turned on - a small coffee shop, fluorescently lit to the degree that it was almost painful to look at, shining like a grimy and mildly uninviting beacon of hope in the darkness. Marko stumbled to another halt and peered through the streaked window, catching sight of a young woman behind the counter, though otherwise it seemed as lifeless as everywhere else inside. With no customers to serve, he could only wonder what a place like that was doing open at such an hour in the first place.

He shoved the creaking door open and stepped inside, the pain still swelling in his chest coercing him tosit down and rest for a while. Before approaching the woman behind the counter, reclining in a chair and looking disheveled and tired, he quickly remembered he hadn’t any money on him for a drink and cursed quietly behind the scarf. The server’s exhaustion turned to suspicion, perhaps because she’d heard him.

Marko coughed. “Hey uh… Mornin’. I don’t really know this area and I’m kinda lost right now, and my chest started hurtin’... Think I gotta cold or somethin’.” He bit his lips together for a moment. “I don’t have any money, so… Would ya mind if I had a cup of warm water or somethin’?”

She narrowed her eyes, not looking too thrilled at being made to move from her spot. Despite this she rose to her feet and moved to get a cup. “Just a minute, then.”

He was slightly surprised that had worked. “Thanks.” He croaked out. Watching her fill the cup with hot water from a dispenser, he added, “By the way, I’m lookin’ for the nearest church. D’ya happen to know where it is?”

Topping up the cup with cold water from the sink, she gave an upfront reply, “There’s St. Croce’s, about a mile from here towards the western bridge to Briati district.”

Her words didn’t mean an awful lot. Though he could distinguish west from the seafront, finding the western bridge on foot would be a challenge, and from there he’d still have to find the church… And he didn’t know if his chest was going to start improving, either. Despite this he took the cup from her with another grateful response and settled down in a plastic chair near the back wall.

Whilst he chose to keep his hood up he pulled the edge of the scarf down to his chin so he could drink. A bitter blend of coffee and cleaning fluids hit his nose at once. But he did wonder if the coffee was better than the scent let on, not that he’d be able to find out. Marko had never carried money on him, because he’d never _had_ to. In the program, an Omega would have everything provided for him: food, clothes, toiletries, medication… Even in his village he didn’t have to think much about it.

The liquid was still piping hot and tasted of nothing, but it did ease the ache, as he’d hoped. As he lowered the cup to the table to let the water cool off, his idle thoughts about the rest of his journey to the church were cut off when the windows shook in their frames, rattled by the sound of a car engine. A glimmer of shining metal caught his eye, and he heard the clutch croaking as the vehicle pulled up just in front of the unit. It was a perfectly polished car of a metallic midnight blue colour, a stark contrast to the plain and dreary shop casting light upon it. Odd, Marko thought, for such an expensive car to be found in the factory district.

A woman in a red trenchcoat left the driver’s side, and a stocky man in much simpler clothing emerged from the other; he entered the shop, letting in a draught of cold air as the woman locked the car with a keyfob. Her hair was short and dark and covered by a cloche that matched her coat, and Marko was about to go back to thinking about how he was going to get to the church when he caught sight of her face.

Beneath her fringe were almond-shaped eyes, and she wore a small amount of make-up, her lips swollen and accented by a burgundy lipstick. He didn’t get to look for very long, though, as she joined her companion at the counter and therefore had her face turned away from Marko. But there was something about her that struck a chord of familiarity with him…

The server behind the counter seemed much more eager to serve the two new arrivals than she had been with Marko (he figured it was probably because neither of them approached her with their hoods up and half their faces hidden). “Morning…”

“Two cappuccinos to take out.” The man began, before briefly addressing the woman in red, “You want sugar?”

Not only was her face familiar, so was the tone of her voice - light, yet mature: “Mm, just the one.”

Marko felt his face dropping as the weight of the realisation sank in... It couldn’t have been her… _Could it_? He wanted to get a better look, but he also didn’t want to be caught staring. Instead he hid his mouth behind his cup and took a small sip whilst lowering his head.

Perhaps it was just a strange coincidence, that the woman both looked and sounded like Erzsébet. And he was prepared to shrug it off as one, until the car parked outside came to mind. Before Marko had left for The North, he’d visited Erzsébet’s home in Clero district and had met Roderich for the first time. Back then, Roderich was in the process of recovering from an accident that had left him unable to use his legs for some years. Surgeries and intense physiotherapies meant he wasn’t always wheelchair-bound, but for getting around the city he had used a low-seated car with excess leg room… A car that happened to be the exact same metallic blue as the one parked outside the shop.

He eyed the car again for a moment, feeling his face become more rigid. What was Erzsébet was doing in the factory district - in disguise, no less? Moments later, with his gaze cast back down to the clear contents of his cup, he realised she was probably participating in some kind of rebellion work. He also doubted she’d recognise him, so long as he kept his hood up and his head down, which was probably for the best if she didn’t want to blow her cover.

On the other hand, Marko couldn’t tell who her companion was at all… If she really was participating some kind of mission for the rebellion, then he doubted the man was anyone he knew of.

The coffee machine whirred and clicked and spluttered, and the man made a sniffling noise, as if he had a stuffed nose. Then, Erzsébet’s voice spoke again, “I’ll buy.”

Marko lifted the cup to his lips and slowly sipped as he heard the man inhale a few times more.

“Six _ducats_.” The server said. Shortly after, the sound of her cash register clunking echoed off the tiled walls.

Another few loud sniffs followed, and Marko felt a pair of eyes upon him.

“Is something wrong?” Erzsébet asked her companion.

He paused before grunting in response, “There might be.”

Lowering the cup back to the table was all the movement Marko let himself do. Suspicious as the man’s words were, he refused to look that way.

“Take the drinks and go back to the car.” Bluntly, the man demanded this of Erzsébet.

At that, Marko’s rigidness subsided and he became irritated. _Who the hell does that guy think he is, speaking to her like that?_ He didn’t care if the man was some kind of superior in the rebellion… He felt his fingers twitching around the cup and his face scowling… But not long after, he found that how the man was talking should have been the least of his worries.

“Alright… You won’t be too long, will you?” Erzsébet didn’t get an answer, and the door croaked and clanked as she left without lingering around.

Taking a brief glance out of the window once more, Marko saw she was busying herself opening up and climbing back into the car. Not once did she look back into the shop, herself. Seeing her at such a distance and without hearing her voice, she appeared as a complete stranger. Considering how little sleep he’d gotten, he started to doubt if it even was her, and his mind wasn’t just playing tricks on him.

His weariness was also part of the reason he took so long in realising what the man was doing, making continuous sniffing noises. Marko sensed him stepping across the shop floor towards where he was seated. He loomed above him like a tower block.

Then, the man made a noise like he had something caught in his throat, and scoffed, “You stink of him - where is he!?”

Marko bit on his lower lip, and steadily shifted the edge of the scarf back over his mouth and nose. He cursed at himself for making such a stupid mistake - if he’d known the man was scenting him (or, rather, his clothes), he’d have made a break for it whilst Erzsébet was still around. Or, he could have just asked the server for directions and left before they’d pulled up. But ‘should haves’ and ‘could haves’ were ultimately pointless at that stage.

He sucked in a breath and replied, though he continued not to look at the man, “Not here.”

Despite his attempt to remain cool and collected, the man then slammed his fist onto his table, which startled Marko. “Don’t be a fucking smart-ass, you piece of shit!”

What did he want him to say? Marko’s eyes traveled from the cup to the veiny, tattooed skin of the man’s wrist, as he continued to cram his fist against the surface in an intimidating manner. Yet Marko refused to let himself be belittled by him, even if he _was_ an Alpha. “If you’re talkin’ about Vuk, he’s in the stronghold.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Leaning further over Marko, using his anchored fist for support, he hissed, “You _reek_ of that bastard and nothing else.”

Squinting as if he were staring into sunlight, Marko finally raised his head to look upon the man’s chiseled face. _Good question,_ he thought wryly to himself. He didn’t have the answer the man wanted. And of all the confrontations he expected might have happened to him traversing the district, having to deal with a grudge against Vuk wasn’t on the list - but it should have been among his biggest concerns.

The nearer the scowling Alpha grew to his face, the further Marko’s neck craned back. His eyes were dark and even throughthe scarf his breath was close and warm and cloying,and though he fought to remain collected, it was becoming exceedingly difficult. “A friend.” He stated, whilst trying not to breathe in.

His insides jolted as the Alpha grabbed the front of his coat and yanked him up, his chair clattering backwards against the hard tiled floor. With a hefty shove, Marko was pushed up against the wall behind him. He grimaced and let out a startled yelp at the sudden, painful impact. _What the hell is he…!?_

“I know damn well what you are.” The man spat coldly, closing in on his face again.

Marko didn’t wait to hear him out. The very moment he fully comprehended that he was being pinned against a wall by an Alpha his eyes locked downwards on the cup of water still situated on the table, rippling with shockwaves. He snatched it up and tossed the scalding contents at his assailant’s face. Roaring in shock and pain, the man released his coat and recoiled, covering his clenched eyes with his hands.

The cup dropped from Marko’s unsteady hand and cracked on the floor, and he fell down as well, his legs unable to support his drop from the wall. With his heart in his throat he locked his eyes on the door, just visible past the tables. But whilst he was shuffling over onto his knees the man had recovered just enough to figure out that he was trying to make a break for it.

“ _Bastard_!” He yelled, voice strained with pain.

Before Marko could scramble to his feet a sharp kick was delivered to his gut. He collapsed back to the floor and wretched with gritted teeth; the ache that followed was unbearable. The shop’s pale lighting swam and blurred in front of his speckled vision and all he could hear as he curled his arms around his stomach was his thundering heart against his ribcage.

He wanted to get up. His limbs shook with adrenaline and he wanted so badly to get up but his insides were lurching and he felt close to vomiting.

The brightness of the room started to dissolve, swallowed by an uncertain yet comforting darkness. And the Alpha’s voice cut across the beating of his heart, addressing the only other person present - “You didn’t see _anything_ , woman. Gottit?”

 

* * *

 

_She didn’t see what was happening, did she?_

The new surface beneath him was firm, but not uncomfortable. He woke to a low humming noise in his ear, though he found it difficult to properly rouse. His eyelids were heavy and his insides hurt; when he tried to recall the source of the pain all that came to mind was the familiar face of the woman in the red coat.

“...’rz...s…be...”

Streaks of light flashed over his face and he managed to crack a single eye open. Though his surroundings were mostly darkened, once he’d come to his senses, it wasn’t hard to figure out where he was and what was going on. Upholstery musk, petrol and coffee hung in the air. He was in the back of the metallic blue car, reclining in an uncomfortable position with his hands locked behind him… He tried to tug them forwards, only to find they were bound together… _Ah, shit._

The car was moving, streetlights and the roofs of buildings rushing past the windows. Erzsébet - or the woman in red - was at the wheel, eyes trained on the road ahead, and though Marko couldn’t move his head far enough to get a proper look, the passenger’s seat was occupied - by the Alpha that had attacked him, he assumed.

From the pit of his stomach where the pain from the blow could still be felt, anger started to bubble… But ultimately it was overshadowed by helplessness - he found he could barely shuffle into a less awkward position without grimacing in pain. An attempt at rolling onto his back was stopped when his forearm jabbed into his midriff; it felt as if a sharp blade had been rammed in there.

Groaning through clenched teeth, he glanced back towards the woman in red. “...’sé...b--” He tried again, but her name dissolved into a coughing fit, which only worsened his chest and stomach. Her profile as well faded into a blur, water pooling at the edges of his eyes.

The ache became overwhelming, clouding his mind despite his attempts to figure his situation out, and he drifted back into unconsciousness once more.

Yet it was a short period of slumber. Brought back to reality again by something hard pressed into his side, he jumped and thrashed weakly. He was no longer laid on the car’s back seat, but suspended above moving pavement.

“It’s this one.” The Alpha’s voice said firmly, and the skewed pathway in Marko’s vision came to a standstill.

Erzsébet’s voice followed, “Well, it’s certainly not what I was expecting.”

“We can’t all live the high life in the centre like you, princess.”

As the man spoke, his words vibrated through Marko’s chest and it clicked in his mind that he was the one carrying him; he’d been tossed over his shoulder with little poise. He writhed again with greater strength, jamming his knee into the Alpha’s torso.

“ _Agh_! The little shit’s lively.” The hold the man had on Marko tightened, worsening his pain and rendering him unable to move again. “Gh… Go ahead, Isabel. You’ve got the key.”

Part of Marko wished he was still unconscious. In such a state he wouldn’t have to deal with both the pain and the confusion as to what was going on,and that impulsive voice within him telling him to bear the suffering and fight his way out. _Isabel…?_ To make matters worse, he still couldn’t be sure of the woman’s true identity. Surely, Erzsébet wouldn’t be letting _this_ happen to him?

He tried to muster up enough strength once again to wriggle free, but it was futile. Even if he wasn’t injured or bound, resisting an Alpha would be a struggle in itself. Last time, it had been sheer luck that had saved him - sheer luck in the form of Ion and a small handgun. Though his mind was clouded, the memories of the dank cabin basement were still clear as day.

They entered into a small, cramped dwelling; the scent of the fresh air turned to mould and rotting wood. Under their feet the floorboards creaked and the moment the front door was shut, everything was plunged into momentary darkness.

“Be sure to lock it.” The man said.

Marko was then flung to the ground. Once more the pain in his side became inflamed, and he hacked and coughed behind the scarf that was somehow still wrapped tight across his lower face. As he curled up there was a clicking noise, and a dull light spread across the room from a hanging pendant above. But he didn’t care to take in his new surroundings. Preoccupied with the pain, he had been sapped of his strength, but even in his beaten and confused state he’d yet to lose the will to fight.

“The… The fuck’s… Goin’ on...!?” He wheezed, forcing himself into a seated position against a nearby wall. Through squinted eyes he caught sight of the Alpha, casually stepping across the room as if nothing at all were wrong.

He didn’t get a reply, yet after she had locked the front door the woman in red had turned her attention towards him. “Say, Tomasz? How much for this one?”

Snorting, the man answered monotonously, “He’s not for sale.”

Sipping at her coffee that she had brought inside with her, she made a pensive humming noise. “Why ever not?” She still sounded uncannily like Erzsébet, though the more she spoke, the more evident a foreign lilt became in her voice. Placing her cup on a nearby counter she told him, “Name any price you want.”

“He’s not for sale, woman!” The Alpha snapped. “The ones you want are upstairs. I’ll show you.”

As he began to climb the room’s stairwell, the woman stepped across the floorboards to do so as well, though she eyed Marko carefully as she walked. It was difficult for him to focus on her face but as she attempted to lock eyes with him, he peered back, frowning behind the scarf. She looked so incredibly like Erzsébet that it was difficult to despise her for speaking of him like a commodity, for even associating with traffickers.

She stopped in front of where he’d shoved himself upright, and held her gaze, brow sloping slowly. Then she squatted down to his level, the hem of her coat dropping to the splintered floorboards. One hand extended and yanked the scarf down from under his chin, and her other threw back his hood.

The Alpha’s voice cut across the room like a knife. “Isabel. Move it.”

Her eyes, blurred circles of jade framed by thick black mascara, widened and glinted with both realisation and horror - or, so he could tell. She leant back, pressing a hand to her chest, but her reaction was brief. The next moment she feigned a neutral expression and rose to her feet. “O-Oh. Yes, I’m coming.”

_She didn’t know it was me…?_ Marko wasn’t sure what to think any more - how was he even supposed to begin to fathom his situation in the state he was in? As the woman strode towards the stairs he croaked out at her, “ _Er_ … _zsi_ …?”

But she didn’t falter.

“You know him?” The Alpha asked.

“No.” She replied bluntly. “I’ve never seen him before.” With that, she climbed the stairs. Appearing unconvinced by her words, the Alpha followed her. “But… Tomasz?” She asked, just as she disappeared onto the top floor. “If you’re not selling him, what _will_ you be doing with him?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Marko tested his restraint again. It dug tight into his skin. As it didn’t have the weight of rope or the coldness of metal, he guessed it was a zip tie. _Geeze, that bastard got me good…_ Though still pained, he began to take in more of his immediate surroundings. The reception room contained a small, grimy kitchenette. _Knives_ , he thought. Even if the counters were bare, there was a chance the cupboards or drawers contained something sharp. If not, he could try to wriggle around enough for the knife in his inner breast pocket to drop out - if the pain didn’t cause him to pass out first. _No… If I start doing rummaging around with my hands like this, they’ll hear for sure._

“I don’t know about that…” He heard the woman’s voice say, from the upstairs landing. “I helped you get him here, didn’t I? And I even offered you any price you want for him. I think I deserve to know what you’re going to be doing with him.”

“You don’t ‘deserve’ a damned thing!” The Alpha retorted. “It’s other work, so it’s not your concern.”

How traffickers and their clientele could be so flippant, Marko didn’t know. He didn’t _want_ to know - he wasn’t really in any state to think about that aspect of it. Using the wall for support, he staggered to his feet. More than once on his way up the swelling in his side threatened to bring him back down, and the floorboards creaked beneath him as if they wanted to give away the fact he was up on purpose. But those upstairs seemed too involved in their conversation to notice.

The woman’s voice dropped in tone, and her lilt seemed to disappear as well… It was the very coldness that beset Erzsébet’s voice whenever someone had pressed her buttons wrong. “Listen, _buddy_ , the Prince lets you run your corrupt little rings purely so you can sell Omegas to us. So, either you’re gonna let me know why I can’t buy your new find, or I’m gonna be making a _direct_ complaint to the palace.”

Though Marko’s priority was getting rid of his restraint, when the Alpha laughed bitterly, it froze him in place.

“Hah! Complaining to the palace? Is that all, Isabel? Shit, you elite are pathetic!” He cackled again. “Blackmail won’t work on me. Enough about that, anyway. You’re here to get the ones you bought. Let me unlock the door.”

A better alternative to the knives was the corner edge of the counter. If Marko could make the zip tie taut, there was a chance he could use the edge to snap it. He tried a couple of times, but his attention was still partially taken by where the conversation upstairs was going.

There was a long pause before the woman spoke again, “Fifty thousand _ducats_.”

“Not happening.”

Marko used the most force he could find in his weary limbs to ram the plastic tie against the counter corner. _C’mon… I need to get outta here…_ His mind was beginning to clear, the full weight of the situation dawning on him. As for his aches and pains, he had a feeling the kick the Alpha had delivered to his stomach had fractured a rib.

“...Tomasz? Where…” Erzsébet’s voice yelped loudly. Once again Marko’s sweating hands became still. The sound of a door slamming shut followed, and her voice, though muffled, continued to cry out, “Tomasz!? _TOMASZ_!!”

“You’re a piss-poor actress, woman.”

Fists thundered against the door in time with the heavy beating of Marko’s heart. “Open the fucking door you piece of--!”

“Didn’t think I’d catch on, did you?” The Alpha raised his voice to speak through the division. “I know what you’ve been doing, _Erzsébet Héderváry_. HQ’d be able to keep track of any Omega living in the centre.”

Isabel really _had_ been Erzsébet all along… Knowing that, Marko instantly cared less about what was going to become of him, and more about what was going to happen to her.

“I swear to God, Tomasz!” Her voice boomed. “I’m gonna kick down this door, and then I’m gonna--”

Marko stopped listening when he heard the floorboards upstairs shifting. Cursing beneath his breath he flopped back down against the wall; the man had started to descend the stairs. Between coping with his injury, made worse when he had to move back so quickly, and trying to make sense of the situation, his stomach was flopping and knotting, and his head was spinning.

The pendant lamp cast long shadows over the Alpha and his rough face. Patches of red mottled his skin from the burning water, his hair as well was still a little damp. His eyes, dark and hollow, found Marko across the room, and halfway down the steps he stalled briefly, sniffing in a couple of shallow breaths. Before he continued down, his features twisted in falsified disgust.

“ _Ugh_. His scent is so fucking _rancid_.”

Bearing the pain as he straightened his back, Marko grunted out, “What are... Ya gonna do with Erzsébet?”

The Alpha casually discarded a key next to where the coffees had been left. Then he opened up one of the kitchenette drawers. He didn’t look Marko in the eye again as he answered, “Same thing I’m gonna do to your Alpha when he comes to find you.”

Mouth dry, Marko responded coldly, “I don’t have an Alpha.”

From the drawer the man lifted a plain metal box. After settling it on the counter he fished in one of his trouser pockets, and upon finding a small key within, slipped this into the box’s lock. Though Erzsébet’s yelling had subsided, there was still a drumming noise coming from upstairs, indicating she was making an attempt to break the door down. Marko’s attention was torn between the noise and what the man was doing.

When there was no more response from the Alpha, Marko tried again, “You’re wastin’ your time. Vuk isn’t gonna come for me.”

The box lid was lifted open. “Bullshit.”

A pistol and a blocky magazine were removed from within. Marko felt a bead of sweat run down his forehead.

“What makes ya so sure?” As he asked this, his fingers clenched tight, and he pulled as hard as possible against the restraint. His composure threatened to crumble at the sight of the weapon. _He’s going for Erzsébet…_

Something akin to a smirk found its way onto the man’s shaded countenance. Whilst assembling the pistol he spoke no further, and once finished he went back towards the stairs without any further acknowledgement.

Marko began to panic, raising his voice, “H-Hey! Answer me, asshole!” Ignored again, he bellowed out, so hard and loud he thought his lungs might collapse, “Erzsébet! He’s coming! Get away from the door!!”

A shot rang out and his body locked up at once. With sore eyes he stared down the barrel of the gun, movements deadened and jaw hanging limp and wide. Yet he felt no new pain - the bullet had missed and hit the wall to his right.

“You don’t need to be alive to be found.” The Alpha snorted.

Though Marko’s limbs were numbed, his vigor was not. As if he had not just been shot at, he lunged forwardand continued to yell out at every step the Alpha took, throat raw, “And what if Vuk does come - what’ll ya do then, _huh_!?” Adrenaline raced through him, animating his tired body. “Ya can’t even handle a weakened Omega without tyin’ him down, or a woman without lockin’ her behind a door!” Gaze fixed on the man’s frowning face, he continued, words leaving his mouth without much thought, “Ya wouldn’t last a second against him.”

Another bullet landed mere inches above the last. “ _Shut up_!”

_He won’t go through with that threat. He needs you alive, no matter what he says._

The shot made Marko flinch, but he was determined not to appear nearly as phased as before. “Your aim sucks.”

Discarding the pistol on the stairs the man stormed back down to the lower floor. As he rose above Marko’s seated form like a lumbering giant, it wasn’t clear what he was going to do. _Kill me? Tear me apart with his bare hands?_ Marko felt no more fear, even as he stared into the Alpha’s hollow, irate eyes.

In the very lowest corner of his vision he saw the man’s foot leave the ground. Lunging forwards, he narrowly missed a hard kick to the face. Instead the Alpha smashed a hole into the wall, trembling the entire structure of the building. Marko collapsed onto his front, grunting at the pain in his side - a reminder that he wasn’t in any state to get too cocky.

His initial instinct from that position was to knock the man off his feet, but with his hands bound it was impossible to pull off. The Alpha dislodged himself from the wall, scattering shards of plaster about the floor, just as Marko had started to roll onto his back.

Before he could get all the way over, the sole of the man’s heavy boot was rammed into the back of Marko’s neck. Forced to curl over his lap, his head hit the ground with a thud. Pain and shock threatened to blur his mind again; he tasted blood in his mouth from where his lip had been split.

Even when the Alpha removed his foot, there was no time for Marko to recover. He grimaced and hissed. Fingers coiled tight in the back of his hair. Then he was pulled back up to his knees.

“If you want to live, you’ll shut your Goddamned mouth.” The Alpha breathed low into his ear.

Marko spat blood at his face. “Go fuck yourself.”

The man craned his head away with a displeased snarl; he let go of Marko’s hair and tossed him back towards the damaged wall before returning to the steps, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Filthy cunt.” He climbed back up to the midway point and reclaimed the pistol, shooting another frosty glower at Marko, before disappearing upstairs.

Had he given Erzsébet enough warning, with enough time? Marko didn’t think he could risk it; bruised and beaten as he was, he could still move. Hastily he shuffled back to the counter’s edge.

The Alpha reached the creaking landing. From the locked room, Erzsébet’s voice cried out, “What the hell did you do!?”

There was drumming against the door again, and Marko felt his insides sinking.

“Gotta admit, even if you are a lying bitch, your company wasn’t half bad.” The Alpha said aloud. “By the way, Isabel - thanks for the coffee.”

His sentence had barely finished before the pistol was fired again. Silence followed; though Marko was compelled to cry out at the sound, nothing left his throat. He thrust his hands backwards hard, and then…

_Snap_.

Though his wrists were chafed he couldn’t spare any time tending to them. He staggered to his feet, using the nearby counter for support. Hearing banging on the upstairs door and Erzsébet shouting through it once more, he cringed. _She’s still going?_ Whilst he’d told her to get away from the door, he took her outburst as a sign that there was still a sliver of hope.

One freed hand snatched up the key the Alpha had left, the other scrambled in the breast of his coat for his gifted knife.

The pistol was fired again. Wood cracked and Erzsébet screamed.

Marko didn’t know how he was supposed to take down an Alpha alone, but he was going to do it, even if it would be the last thing he’d ever do.


	17. Chapter 17

Samuil was fifteen when they’d first sent him to The South.

It hadn’t been at the forefront of the conflict. In fact, it hadn’t been anywhere close to that. He’d been posted to a town roughly halfway down Utopia’s claimed territory: a town which sat on a faultline. Once a hub for insurgents, HQ had purged the area. Anyone they thought even looked suspicious was rounded up and hauled off to either be questioned in the capital, if they were lucky, or be thrown straight into a labour camp. Such had been the nature of Utopia’s expansions. And so the town was primarily made up of women, children, the ill and the elderly - though, when Samuil began his approach with the rest of the aid convoy, his first thoughts were that, given what had happened, it probably wasn’t going to be ‘made up’ of much at all.

The sky was overcast, but the warmth of late spring hung in the air, which made the ride from base camp to the town stuffy and uncomfortable. He wore full gear, helmet and facemask and body armour. The field medicine he was going to be working with strapped to his back, and he possessed a short rifle for good measure. Other Omegas were equipped the same, save for the few weapons tech types among them. They carried two larger firearms, which seemed much less of a weight to bumble along with than a field med package. Samuil envied them.

Many times as the truck bounced over the rocky hills, before the town’s edges came into view, Samuil itched to lift his visor to wipe the sweat from his brow. His face made discomforted scrunches beneath it, and instead he rubbed at the exposed portion of his neck where heat was also gathering. The South was nothing like the cool, clinical whiteness of the HQ building; the vehicles were akin to boiling pots when the sun shone upon them, but were also uncomfortable even when it wasn’t. No amount of fitness training would have made a trip like that easy, were it on foot. He had to be thankful it wasn’t. It was an honour for him to be there, one year early, and he had to remind himself of this, lest he make a mistake before he’d even started his first mission.

He wasn’t the only one who had made the cut. Tolys was seated to his immediate left, helmet removed and head bowed. He was half a year younger than Samuil, but had outranked him in training. Therefore, he’d been the first of the early selections from set 131. Every so often, Samuil side-eyed his pack brother through his tinted visor, picking up on the unusual behaviour he’d been displaying since they’d left for The South. Despite the rocking and pitching of the truck, Tolys had been sitting very still, only swaying with the vehicle’s movement.

It was easy to tell there was something wrong with the other Omega: already, he’d defied orders by taking his helmet off (which was something that Samuil was trying hard not to do). Since doubling over his lap he’d yet to sit up again. Samuil cast a couple of glances at the older Omegas squished into the back of the truck, waiting for one of them to tell Tolys to put his helmet back on, but none of them were paying the slightest bit of attention to either of the new recruits.

With his brown hair clipped short and his posture slouched and feeble, and the mass of different Omega scents culminating inside the tight space, it was hard to recognise him as Tolys at all. Samuil felt strangely alone, all of a sudden.

He took a short swig from his water canteen and then held it under Tolys’s face. “It’s warm today. You should drink too.”

Tolys said nothing, but shook his head ever so slightly at the offer. An unimpressed frown formed on Samuil’s face as he pondered whether to insist or not. Once more he looked amongst the older Omegas, hoping he might catch the attention of one just by doing so. Even if they were his comrades, Samuil was wary of speaking to people he didn’t know.

He thought there’d be no response whatsoever. Then, an older voice spoke from the seats opposite, “Listen to your brother. If you’re not feeling too good, drink.”

Still, Tolys remained silent. Closing the cap on his canteen, Samuil reclined in his seat with a long exhale, and started to mill through the medic’s studies fixed within his mind. Stress was probably what was ailing Tolys - it was known to take a grip on Alphas, Omegas and officials alike, irrespective of how long they had been in The South. Measures would be taken - desensitising was the main one - but they were not always successful. But as far as Samuil knew, Tolys hadn’t shown any signs of stress before. He’d been calm, level-headed and brave in training - everything every Omega should have aspired to be. Yet those were controlled circumstances… The South was not. With that in mind, Samuil rested a hand on the brunet’s warm shoulder blade and gave it a reassuring rub.

Sighing softly, Samuil began to bounce his knee impatiently. For someone ferrying emergency reinforcements, the driver seemed to be taking his time. Samuil wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t as stuffy in the back as it was. Not long after he’d started, the Omega seated to his right pressed down sharply on his knee cap to stop the bouncing; no words were exchanged, but the action alone was enough to convey the other’s frustration. Slumping his shoulders, Samuil made a penitent frown.

The truck had barely come to a standstill when the back doors were thrown open. Samuil didn’t hesitate to shuffle out with the rest of the Omegas, taking a sharp breath of the fresh air once his boots had touched down upon the dry, rocky ground. Scents dispersed in the breeze, slight and cool. The task ahead wasn’t something to necessarily look forward to, but he was sure it’d be less taxing than being stuck in the four-wheeled oven any longer.

“Reinforcements, over this way for your briefing.” A woman’s voice beckoned their group.

Though he was prepared to follow the others along, Samuil leant into the back of the vehicle, addressing his pack brother who still hadn’t shifted from his seat, “Tolys, c’mon. It’s time to go.”

Tolys brought a trembling hand to his mouth. All the colour had been drained from his face. His vacant gaze was fixed on the floor and he remained in the stooped position over his lap even as he began to retch. Vomit dripped through the spaces between his fingers. The awful noise prompted Samuil to rest his knee upon the vehicle, so that he could climb back inside. But before he was able to do so, he felt a firm hand on his arm, restraining him.

“There’s nothing you can do. Let him be.” The other Omega said. He yanked on Samuil’s arm in an attempt to make him shift.

“B-But he…”

“You’ll miss the briefing.”

Bearing his sense of duty in mind, Samuil allowed himself to be pulled away from the truck. Even so, he couldn’t remove Tolys from the forefront of his mind, which ultimately distracted him from the briefing session. He stood amongst the other Omegas and watched vacantly as the Corps member reeled off her instructions. Her words warped into the gagging noise, over and over until Samuil felt ready to be sick, himself.

He managed to catch the tail end of the briefing, in which the Omegas were instructed to wait whilst they were put into pairs and assigned their teammates for the task ahead. Each pair of Omegas was to work with three Alphas and a Corps member. ‘Time is of the essence, so don’t dawdle once you’ve got your group together’, was the last part of the speech he’d caught. And then their sort numbers were rolled off. 127s, 128s, 129s and 130s, in no particular order.

Samuil’s number was called before Tolys’s, and before plodding around the remaining Omegas he frowned and twisted his head to look back at the vehicle. He wanted to turn back, but his legs were already moving forwards and the little voice in his head told him he had to go on. _This is it, this is what you’ve spent your life preparing for. Tolys’ll be fine. They’ll tend to him when everyone’s gotten to work._

Still, there was the nagging doubt. He hadn’t expected his first dispatch to have been like this. Skimming the edge of a warzone far in The South was closer to the picture he’d formed in his younger years. He’d whisk right in and patch up the injured; bullets would fly overhead and the rebels would yell in anger and anguish and there’d be buildings burning and debris scattering and chaos all around. Instead, he got what was closer to the aftermath.

The town was visibly shaken, red bricks and mortar scattered across the once-even streets and pathways. No two structures stood at the same height; each had an individual level of damage and disrepair. Coated in a layer of dust and gravel, the dry ground crunched beneath Samuil’s feet.

His team awaited him a few yards from the briefing point. The other Omega, a well-equipped weapons tech type, was in the process of introducing himself to the Alphas and Corps member. When Samuil stopped close by, all eyes of the group fell upon him. His spine straightened as he glanced between them; they seemed to anticipate an introduction from him, too. A lump formed in his throat, and his gaze dropped downwards.

“You - you’re one of the new ones, aren’t you?” The Omega asked. It was the first time he’d spoken with Samuil, though they’d travelled in the same vehicle. After covering the lower half of his face with his mouthguard, he spoke again, “This is The South.” There was a taut edge to his voice, one that made Samuil briefly peer upwards. “Don’t think this’ll be easy, just ‘cause we’re backup. If you slow us down, you’ll get left behind.”

Though Samuil’s lips parted, he said nothing, and placed his own mouth guard with a soft huff. _Who does this guy think he is? He’s only a 130,_ he thought with irritation.

Their Corps member echoed his thoughts; her eyes almost rolled out of the back of her head before she hissed, “ _Be quiet_.” After which, she looked upon Samuil with her lips pursed firmly - a look that made him cast his own eyes back to the ground. However, she then addressed the group as a whole, “I’ve been told to lead you to a residential area, towards the east of the town.” When Samuil peered upwards again, he saw she had turned her attention towards the two Alphas, “I shouldn’t have to remind you, there are civilians here. And the war _isn’t_. Don’t get overzealous.”

Her words seemed to make the weapons tech Omega impatient, but after that she said nothing more, choosing instead to lead the group on their way. One by one, the other parties also began to depart; some moved in a hasty jog, others opted for more leisurely stroll. Samuil was unimpressed to find his team had chosen the latter. Trailing behind the others, he watched a pair of Omegas with folded stretchers tucked beneath their arms rush past with their Corps member, their Alphas following in their wake by keeping an average speed. Samuil’s legs twitched; he felt inclined to run as well, but stopped when he reminded himself he couldn’t.

The Omega from 130 was also irritated. Yet unlike Samuil, he didn’t mind letting everyone else know it. He walked quicker than the Corps member at several points, stopping to allow her to catch up with an impatient cock of his shouldered rifle and tap of the foot. Had he known their exact destination, he likely wouldn’t have stopped at all. Once a few broken, empty streets were cleared, she lost her patience with the 130 and started to yell at him, but it didn’t do much to stop him.

By that point, one of the Alphas had dawdled to the back of the group too, until he was almost walking alongside Samuil. “He’s a confident one, huh?” His deep voice rumbled behind his mouthguard.

_Is he talking to me…?_ Shrugging his shoulders, Samuil made a grunting noise in acknowledgement. Why _is he talking to me?_ He wished he wouldn’t. Without Tolys, he felt alone and exposed, but he tried to rationalise that matter with himself: _even if Tolys wasn’t sick, he’d be in a different group anyway._

“Well… I guess he’s not wrong to be confident.” The Alpha’s tone faltered a little. “Where the war is, he’d be damned without it.”

Samuil chewed on his lip, picking up on the Alpha’s scent through the gear protecting his face (he was unbonded, Samuil noted, and a few years older than he was, but he could have told that from the number patched on his jacket). Rarely had he been near enough to an Alpha to do so before, but he’d known coming to The South would have changed that. He was going to have to be around strangers, whatever their nature.

To make matters worse, the Alpha clearly was neither a mind reader, nor someone who could pick up on what an awkward silence inferred, “So, you’re fresh from training? I did hear something about new recruits turning up today.”

“Y-Yeah…” Samuil stammered, supposing it wasn’t a good idea to rebuff one of his teammates.

“What’s your name? I’ve never liked to call others by their number.”

There was a thick lump in Samuil’s throat. He swallowed it down. “S-Samuil… Samuil Iliya.”

The Alpha didn’t seem off-put by the stammered response and told him, “It’s good to meet you, Samuil.” He might have been smiling, judging by the way his words came across, but even if they weren’t wearing masks over their faces, Samuil’s gaze was firmly ahead and away from him. “I’m Jenoah. If you need help with anything today, let me know. Well… Anything that isn’t field medicine, anyway. I have to leave that to the experts.” His hand found its way onto Samuil’s shoulder and he gave it a few firm pats.

As he flinched at the contact Samuil’s eyes crinkled beneath his visor. Jenoah was likely just being polite, but there was no reason for him to do so. Why had he not just stated his name and _told_ him he was there to assist? Alphas were supposed to demand, to force, to _tell_ \- not offer.

“You turned up last so you missed their names, didn’t you?” Jenoah continued, when he understood that Samuil wasn’t going to give him a response. He motioned ahead with his hand towards the other medic. “The eager one up there said his name was Biel. I can’t imagine he’ll like someone from a lower set calling him by his first name, though.”

Samuil was about to start inwardly moaning about how he didn’t care much about who the others were at all, but hearing Jenoah’s statement, he supposed the Alpha did have a point. All superiors were to be addressed as ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ by both Alphas and Omegas, unless they were told otherwise. But it would’ve been a stretch to consider the obnoxious and restless 130 his superior.

The other Alpha of their team, who Samuil had yet to hear speak a single word, was pointed out next. He was big and burly, his gear and uniform fitting tight against his wide shoulders. “That’s Reuven, my pack brother.” Jenoah said. “You can call him whatever you want, though - he won’t reply. He’s never been one for conversation.”

After his brief acknowledgement of the Alpha up ahead, Samuil lowered his eyes to his wrist; he began to fiddle with the cuffs of his gloves, folding them under and over his jacket’s sleeves, and then under and over again, as a distraction of sorts. Jenoah’s words did nothing but remind him of his own pack brother, retching back in the truck. He wished Tolys could have been out there too on their first day in The South, even apart from Samuil. If participating in the tail end of rescue efforts stressed him out, then there was no way he’d be allowed near the front lines. _It should’ve been both of us, or neither of us._ Was it guilt he felt for leaving him behind? _I can’t keep dwelling on it. I had to come here. It’s an honour to be here._

_Honour…_ He repeated the word in his head, over and over until the word began to sound hollow.

Lead by the Corps member, their group turned a couple of corners that brought them to narrow streets where the dwellings were still standing. Jenoah seemed to have understood that much like Reuven, Samuil wasn’t much of a talker. Samuil looked up from fumbling with his sleeves every so often to make sure he was still going the right way; not long after the Alpha had grown silent himself, Samuil eyed Jenoah as he strode on ahead to walk alongside his pack brother instead.

_Clunk._

A sudden pressure hit the side of Samuil’s helmet, bringing him to a standstill. His startled gaze glanced downwards as a small rock dropped to his feet, settling in the dust. Heart rate rising, his eyes shot up to the tops of the surrounding buildings… Was an aftershock starting? Were the structures, more unstable than they appeared, starting to fall?

There were no tremors to suggest as much, but sharp and shrill, the outcry of a single voice echoed through the street, “Alpha scum! Get outta here!!”

Preoccupied with his awkward ministrations, Samuil had paid so little attention to his surroundings that he’d failed to notice the street’s only remaining occupants. Nestled inside a narrow doorway close by sat an elderly woman, hunched over her lap with knobbled fingers clutching a wooden cane, unmoving. And a disheveled young boy stood a little ways in front of her, fists and shoulders tensed and a scowl upon his dirty face. He glared daggers at Samuil, and crouched down to pick up another scattered stone. But now that he’d caught Samuil’s attention, he appeared reluctant to throw at him again.

Samuil remained glued to the spot, a hand reaching up to touch the side of his helmet. He couldn’t feel a dent - the helmets were made to withstand heavier objects than a single fragment of brick, after all. Still, it had caught him off-guard. It took him a while to form a coherent thought, and by that time he’d been staring at the boy for so long his anger had turned to wariness.

_What am I supposed to do with him? There’s some kind of protocol, right…?_ He wished he could remember. _He looks nervous... I should just keep walking._

Bravery rose in the boy, before Samuil could carry out his thoughts. “D-Didn’t ya hear me!?” He wailed. “I said, get outta here!!” He seemed to consider tossing the stone again, and so his jittery elbow bent backwards.

This time, Samuil was well prepared to dodge or block the throw. But he didn’t have to. He’d barely blinked before Reuven had made his way onto the scene. Quick as a whip the Alpha had snatched the boy up by the wrist of his throwing arm, dangling him a foot off the ground.

The anguished yell that erupted from the boy’s throat startled Samuil more than the stone or his outbursts. Reuven’s grip was not restrained and though the boy thrashed and wailed his arm became limp and the stone plummeted back to the ground. Samuil swallowed, and began to lift a hand outwards. “Wait… You’re...” He tried to tell the Alpha, but his voice was strained and muted, and no doubt had fallen upon deaf ears anyway. _You’re going to hurt him._

“What’s going on!?” The Corps member’s voice called back. No one answered her.

Even if Samuil could have answered her, he wasn’t sure he’d have known what to say. The old woman - though she hadn’t been quite as fast as Reuven - was quick to react to the Alpha’s actions. “You let go of him!” She croaked. Samuil had to blink a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things when her thin arms lifted her cane and she began to smack Reuven repeatedly on his unoccupied shoulder.

Either the hits were too light to harm the Alpha, or he simply couldn’t feel them; he remained still and tall and statuesque, though he turned his head to observe the woman. By the time the rest of their group had returned to see to the commotion, however, Reuven had let the boy go. He dropped like the stone, landing on his back, wailing and quickly scrambling up and fleeing the street as fast as his legs would carry him.

The Corps member’s voice asked sharply, “Alpha - what are you doing!?”

Again, no one answered her. Not Reuven, not Samuil, and not the old woman - who began to shuffle back to her seat, a thunderous look upon her sunken face.

Before stepping away, the Alpha’s attention fell upon Samuil. Then, deep and monotonous and rumbling, he spoke his first words to him, “Next time, don’t stop. Pay them no attention. Walk onwards. You’ll learn.” He moved past the unimpressed Corps member.

As they continued to their location, Samuil managed to tell a questioning Jenoah what had happened. Even though they’d hung a few yards behind the others, as before, Samuil’s voice was meek and quiet - Reuven’s words confirmed that he hadn’t acted as he was supposed to.

Shoulders slumped and hands finding themselves preoccupied with his sleeves once more, Samuil found no comfort in Jenoah’s comment on the matter, “Reuven overreacted, but he was just trying to make sure you weren’t hit again.” Alpha protocol included protecting Omegas… Protecting their bodies, _and_ their pride. _Embarrassing_ , Samuil thought, but he couldn’t argue any differently... If he _had_ walked away, would Reuven have done so, too?

The further they headed to the east, the more disorientating the town became. Many streets were blocked by buildings that had tumbled inwards upon them; a few of the other Alphas they came across looked to be cleaning up the mess itself rather than pulling anyone out of it.

They were beckoned to from the edge of a small, upturned plaza, waved over by a Corps member seeking help. A church sat on the corner of where two streets met, its bell tower remarkably still in one piece. But Samuil couldn’t afford to look up at it for too long, lest he trip on the quake-damaged paving he was taking care in crossing. Even if he had passed all his fitness tests and trials with flying colours, it would have mattered little if he’d made an ass of himself _twice_ out there.

“Thank God you showed... I’ve been waiting here for hours. There’s a young girl trapped under the wreckage.” The Corps member who had called to them addressed her colleague with curtness. She was quick to move to what remained of the building behind the church; the roof had collapsed in on itself, but the walls were still upright.

Abruptly, though she crouched down with the other woman to see into the crack in the building’s foundations, their team’s member asked, “Where are your Alphas?”

“Gone. They’re occupied with clearing up.” The lone member answered. The quickness of her words conveyed mild desperation, but she looked and sounded stiff, brushing the question off. “That was before I found the girl. I stayed here to keep her calm... You have to hurry.”

The rescue efforts began at once, but Samuil was first tasked with staying on the sidelines. Before he could even think to put himself forward for the task, Biel had volunteered to climb down to pull the girl out. So, Samuil hung back, hoping the 130 Omega was going to practise what he’d preached earlier and be quick about it. _I thought we’d only be pulling corpses out today, if anything…_ He watched Reuven and Jenoah clamber over the piles of bricks and mortar and heave armfuls of it away. _She’s lucky we came by when we did._

“Hello? Are you there?” Their Corps member called down through the opening. She did so a few times over.

Her colleague pointed out, “Hurry - she may be unconscious by now.”

_From shock, or lack of oxygen, or both,_ Samuil added mentally. Either way, with no other medics present, he’d have to deal with the girl’s health alone. _Maybe she’ll have a broken limb or two, but if she’s knocked out she won’t be too much hassle. Easy, right?_

As expected, Biel was the first to slip down through the clearing made by the Alphas. Once he’d used a flashlight to briefly survey the inside, he claimed to have found a wooden support beam he could clamber down with. “I don’t see her.” Was the last thing he said before disappearing below ground.

Their Corps member lowered her head down as well. She remained teetering on the edge, whilst the other woman rose to her feet. Samuil watched her become still for a moment as she eyed Jenoah and Reuven. The Alphas paid no notice to her, still preoccupied with clearing the rubble.

Samuil, too, was caught up in thinking about the girl, how severe her injuries would be, how careful he’d have to be. So wound up that he almost didn’t see their team’s member fall through the hole. His body tensed as her cry echoed from below.

_No… She didn’t fall…_ Her colleague had kicked her down.

And then, the woman straightened her back, and with a swift movement tossed her uniform cap to the dusty ground. From her pocket she whisked out an object, small enough to be hidden in the palm of her hand, out of Samuil’s view.

The scream of their Corps member had bought her the Alpha’s attention, but they too were frigid with confusion.

All Samuil could ask himself was: _What the hell am I supposed to do?_

At the top of her lungs, the woman yelled, monotonous, unfaltering, “For my husband! For my brother! _Resistentia vivere!_ ” She lifted her thumb.

Then he knew.

He lurched at the woman, knocking her off balance and twisting her arm backwards. The device she was holding flew through the air before tumbling to the ground. Samuil braced himself in case the fall caused it to activate. Nothing came, but he continued to stand his ground; the woman grappled with him, trying to get free. Whipping herself around, she faced Samuil. She showed no fear but her previously blank demeanor had grown full of rage. Though lighter than anyone he’d trained with she was lithe and slippery, and when she almost became free he was forced to hook a foot behind her ankle and clamber down to the ground with her. Using his weight he pinned her. But still, she squealed and thrashed. Face down with his hand pushing on her head she clawed her nails in the dirt and jerked her elbows upwards and kicked her legs in haphazard attempts to hit him.

_For my husband. For my brother._ Her words echoed in his ears.

“Samuil, stay put! Keep her there!” Jenoah’s voice cut across the scene.

Each of her outcries became a sob. Every sob followed a shake of her shoulders. And somehow, _somehow_ , Samuil had to wonder if what he’d just done was the right thing.

He eased off her head. A pair of gritty, unpolished boots slid into view next to the now tangled mess of her hair.

“Are there more of you?” Jenoah demanded.

She didn’t answer. The Alpha laid the sole of his boot on the back of her neck. A clicking noise made Samuil cast his gaze upwards; Jenoah had the tip of his loaded rifle trained on the woman’s head.

The abrupt question came again, hissed through clenched teeth, “Are there more of you!?”

Shaken, stammering, the woman swallowed. Then, remarkably, as if all her composure had returned, she gave a plain reply, “All of us. All of us that are still here.” For the first time, her regional accent became apparent, her ‘r’ sounds long and smooth. “You took our families, our friends, and our freedom. And the earthquake took our homes.” She rested her forehead to the ground, shielding her face from view as again she became agitated. “But no one will take the resistance. No one!”

Jenoah pulled the trigger. Samuil recoiled. He felt the shot through his bones and in the back of his throat. Scampering away and falling backwards, he spluttered and swore behind his mouth guard.

The Alpha simply sighed, and stepped back from her body. “If I had a _ducat_ for every time I’d heard that.”

 

*

 

Jenoah, without his helmet, looked nothing like Samuil had envisioned. He had a thin face, black hair and warm, dark eyes. He could have been described as handsome… Maybe. Even in the base’s badly-lit canteen; even though Samuil didn’t want to look him in the eye. Samuil was supposed to have taken just one brief glimpse to acknowledge his face but his gaze lingered much longer than it should have. Thankfully, Jenoah had no idea he was even nearby. Not until he’d started to approach.

_He’s nothing special, though, not really…_ He tried to rationalise with himself, because admitting the Alpha had any good qualities wasn’t something he was happy about doing. Not right then. Maybe he’d change his mind when he’d gotten an answer.

The woman’s body was all he’d seen, the entire way back to base. And her words were all he’d heard.

_For my husband!_

_For my brother!_

_**Resistentia vivere!** _

“Evening, Samuil.” The Alpha greeted him nonchalantly. He was seated alone and sipping coffee from a steel mug. “Come sit down, tell me how your brother’s doing.”

The words that Samuil wanted to say were almost bitten back. He stood upright, and breathed deep. Tolys was doing better, much better, but Samuil hadn’t yet told him what had happened… And he didn’t plan to, if he could avoid it. He didn’t want to give him any more reason to be stressed.

“Why’d you kill her…?” He asked. Though he’d wanted to keep his voice quiet lest anyone else hear him, his words were just barely a whisper.

Behind them, plates and cutlery were clattering, others were milling around and talking amongst themselves. Jenoah’s examined his face, eyebrows raising sharply.

Before Jenoah could misinterpret his question, Samuil spluttered out, “I-I had her on the ground! Couldn’t we have waited for backup and arrested her instead?” His hands felt clammy as he clenched and unclenched his fists. It had taken him most of the day to muster up the courage to approach the Alpha, let alone challenge him on his actions.

_It’s not my place to do so,_ he’d feared. _Besides, no one else said anything…_ But his conscience nagged on and on and all he really wanted was an explanation, if nothing else.

Jenoah held his gaze for a little longer. When he broke it, he turned away from Samuil and folded his hands on the table with a heavy sigh. “You shouldn’t be asking questions like that.” His voice was a low rumble. “Especially not where people can hear you. Do you wanna end up getting ‘fixed’?”

Though Samuil had considered that, he’d been more wary of getting Jenoah alone to ask it. He looked down at his feet, shuffling them awkwardly. “I know they’re the enemy… I-I just… I don’t get why ya…”

Both went quiet then, and it seemed like an eternity had passed when the Alpha had decided to answer. His tone was cool and quiet, collected, “Samuil, sometimes we have to make decisions in the heat of the moment. You know this yourself, don’t you? When you saw what that woman was doing, you went for her and stopped her.”

And Jenoah had praised him for it, and there was part of Samuil that wanted to gloat in that victory of his; he’d wanted so badly to tell Tolys all about it but he couldn’t think about it without seeing, _hearing_ , the bullet go through her skull. Sure, he’d known one day he’d have to see something like that, whether it was an enemy or a comrade… For as long as he could remember, he’d known. But he hadn’t thought he’d see it _that day_. He hadn’t thought it would have twisted his heart and unsettled his stomach. He hadn’t thought it would make him doubt if he was really ready to be in The South.

“I had to make a choice, too.” Jenoah continued. “She’d already killed one of the Corps for her disguise, and she wanted to kill again. She had her victim’s equipment on her. If she’d got out from under you, _you_ could’ve been the first one dead.” The more he spoke, the stronger his words became. When Samuil glanced up he saw the Alpha was grimacing whilst stooped over his hands, as if it hurt for him to talk. “I couldn’t take that risk.”

There had been no girl trapped under the ruined building, but when he’d scoured the place Biel _had_ found a body; belonging to a Corps member the insurgent woman had killed for her uniform. She’d been stripped and wrapped in a piece of cloth and the marks around her neck were a clear sign that she’d been strangled to death. Several explosives were also uncovered by the weapons tech Omega, who theorised from their layout the woman had planned not only to cave in the building’s remains, but to bring down the church tower upon the two Alphas as well. Had she been successful, Samuil would have been the last one standing. Perhaps she’d thought he’d be easy to deal with alone…

Instead they had all left with their lives in-tact. Only their Corps member suffered an injury, breaking her arm after falling. It wasn’t something Samuil couldn’t patch up with a splint and a few bandages but he’d been in such a dimmed, startled state at the time that he’d managed to mess it up before the Corps member’s huffs of contempt had prompted him to pay more attention.

Whether the insurgent woman was working as part of a team or not, everything had been planned with great care, striking when both the town and the militia were at their most vulnerable.

Samuil was still discomforted, and also frustrated. Her answer on whether she operated alone or not had been vague and misleading, and so the whole truth had died with her.

Jenoah eyed him sidelong, frowning deeply, “Do you understand now?”

_Yes_. That was the short answer. But it wasn’t enough, even if Samuil had wanted it to be. Rather, it was what he already knew. He stuffed his clammy hands into his pockets, still failing to look Jenoah in the eye. “I could’ve knocked her out… Maybe.”

“...What if you weren’t able to?”

With a shrug, Samuil replied, “I don’t know.” _I didn’t get a chance to try…_

The Alpha made a low humming noise. Samuil slowly peered up at him, and watched as he reached for his coffee. He rocked his mug a little and watched the brown liquid swirl about. It seemed like he wasn’t going to speak again. He’d had a good enough answer, but Samuil still couldn’t help but feel as if the confrontation had been pointless.

“By the way…” Jenoah began. He rested against the table and looked Samuil’s way again. “I’ve never seen an Omega take someone down like that before. It was impressive.” Though he sounded more pensive than anything else, the comment made Samuil uncomfortably abashed all the same; he bit his lips together and tried to look anywhere that wasn’t at the Alpha’s face. “If you had intended to knock her out, what would you have done after taking her down?” He went on to ask.

Samuil scratched at the back of his head. “A sleeper hold.” Though she had been thrashing, enough pressure to her neck would have had her out cold in moments.

With a nod of approval, Jenoah said, “You should try that out, next time you need to do so.” He exhaled through his nose. “Not that I’m _hoping_ you’ll end up in any tight spots.” He looked sheepish and brought his mug to his mouth as if to shield his expression. “Well… You know what I mean.”

 

*

 

_If I could just… Get to his neck..._

Tomasz was an Alpha. Not a human woman, not a trained Corps member, not a human man, not another Omega. But Marko’s legs were already moving, faster than he could think. And the Alpha on the landing noticed his approach before he had reached the top of the steps.

Wherever in the world Jenoah was - or, indeed, wasn’t - his words were thrusting the adrenaline through Marko’s body and mind: “ _I had to make a choice. I couldn’t take that risk.”_

There was only one choice. There was only one risk. Either Tomasz died, or Erzsébet did.

Samuil might’ve thought him an idiot.

Startled, Tomasz raised his shotgun in Marko’s direction, though he was still reluctant to pull the trigger on him, “How _in the fuck_ did you…!?”

Marko didn’t answer the half-asked question. He was far past the point of snide remarks, or even speaking to the Alpha at all. There was little to say to a man who deserved nothing more than a cold steel blade in his throat.

Whilst the darkness shrouded the Alpha, it was also Marko’s only shield against him. The moment his foot touched the top step he tightened his fingers around the knife and thrust at Tomasz’s shadowy figure, aiming for the neck.

Before he could strike, a rough hand gripped around his wrist. The tip of the blade mere inches from the Alpha’s grimacing face, Marko pushed all of his strength and weight forwards. Forwards, and forwards… To no avail. Tomasz’s jagged nails dug deep in his skin and it only took one shove in return for Marko, wrist freed, to stumble backwards.

His spine collided with the wall behind him, but now that Tomasz had let go there was a small window of time in which he could pounce again. Marko ignored the aches and pains that wracked his body and readied the knife once more. But the Alpha was faster still; his pistol clattered to the floor and he made to grab both a fistful of the front of Marko’s jacket, and his assaulting arm.

_No._

Marko jerked his knee upwards as Tomasz’s form loomed over him; a crass groan left the Alpha’s throat when it jammed hard into his stomach. He staggered backwards but keeled forwards and for another fleeting moment his neck and throat were exposed. Without hesitation, he brought the knife down.

Tomasz’s eyes, black and void, lifted and widened. A loud, spitting hiss left his lips and his body jerked clumsily away from Marko. Knowing the stab had missed, Marko swore through clenched teeth. He attempted to regain his posture before Tomasz could gain the upper hand. The Alpha was panting and grunting and recoiling like a spurned animal. He edged away from Marko with his guard up, prepared for another strike. _He’s too damned fast…_ Marko wanted to attack again, but he was only going to leave himself open by doing so.

_But… It’s either him, or Erzsébet._ He reminded himself. _If I don’t take him out, then she’ll..._

There was no choice. Fingers twisting tight around the knife’s handle, he looked upon where the faint light from downstairs touched the landing at the top of the steps, just beyond the Alpha’s heels. As Tomasz straightened back up to retaliate, Marko took what he was sure would be his last chance. He crouched and, still fighting against his body’s pain, whisked a hard kick to the Alpha’s shin. His balance lost, Tomasz’s arms swung about; a series of thundering bangs and a sharp yell followed his shaded form dropping away from Marko’s view.

In the few seconds that followed, Marko was stunned by Alpha’s fall, even though he’d caused it himself. He hadn’t expected it would work so well, that Tomasz wasn’t properly aware of his surroundings. Deciding then that he didn’t care, Marko prepared to jump down himself and finish the scumbag off whilst he was entirely open. He made for the top of the steps, heart beating like a drum.

A clattering nearby caught his attention, and the idea of pursuing the Alpha was pushed back. The handle of one of the upstairs doors was moving in place. Tell-tale bullet holes marred the wood, dim and flickering light just barely visible through them; the key still rested in the lock.

Though wary of letting his guard down, Marko made for the door and banged a fist on it. “Erzsébet!” He called out. His mouth was dry and he was forced to cough and swallow before repeating the heavy knock, “ _Erzsébet!!_ ”

Her gasping voice cracked as it came, “Marko… W-What are you doing!? Where’s… Where’s Tomasz!?”

He didn’t care to answer her questions, fumbling awkwardly with the key as he tried to open the lock as fast as he could with sweating fingers. “Are ya hurt? The bullets, did they hit ya…?”

Erzsébet was silent, and it seemed like an eternity had passed before she spoke again - an eternity within which his rushing hand had still failed to open the damned door. “...O-One hit me, but I’ll be alright.” Strained, she added, “Marko, you need to get out of here, right now.”

“Yeah, I sure as hell plan on it.” He all but snapped. _But not without you._ It didn’t matter whether she claimed she was alright or not, she needed treatment. And even if she hadn’t been injured, he wouldn’t have fled the scene and left her there at the Alpha’s mercy, as she was implying… He would never have lived it down.

A thumping noise caught his attention; at first he thought it was merely the heavy beating of his heart but he was quick to realise it was coming from the staircase. _Of course… Of course he’d get right back up, that bastard!_ The very second the rattling key turned all the way and clicked the latch, Marko spun on his heel.

The darkened figure reappeared on the landing. Though he’d recovered and moved quickly, his form was hunched over itself and staggering. He’d been injured enough from the fall that Marko was certain he could overwhelm him a second time… Yet, he was also starting to become aware of how pained his own body was. Tomasz groaned and grunted; he seemed to spit, blood or saliva or both, as he made his approach. For a split second, Marko recalled the pistol that the Alpha had cast aside. Wherever it was, there was no time to seek it out, and if Tomasz had an ounce of sense in his rotten mind, he would’ve known the same.

And so, assuming a defensive stance with his knife raised to cover his face, Marko stepped forward. Time was running out. Tomasz’s eyes were cold beads of black, glistening and irate. But as well, his neck was exposed. _This time, he’ll stay down… I’ll make damned sure of it…_

The knife’s serrated edge hung barely an inch from the Alpha’s throat. In the space of mere seconds, Marko’s determination came crashing down, and so did he. Blocking the oncoming attack, Tomasz’s hand whipped up away from his body and clenched around Marko’s wrist, a crushing hold that indicated that he no longer cared if the Omega was damaged or not. His shaded face screwed up. He yanked Marko’s hand downwards and twisted it behind his back, and though Marko grappled at the Alpha’s shoulder in a quick attempt to sturdy himself it was useless. Pain soared through his arm and he cried through clenched teeth as Tomasz forced him down to his knees.

He writhed, but it was a short lived attempt at getting free. With an unimpressed grunt, the Alpha restrained his free arm and forced his weight on top of him, pinning him against the splintered floor. As Marko stilled his aching limbs, his vision became clouded. It felt like his knife-wielding arm was being torn from his shoulder. Lightheaded, it was as if all his body wanted to do now he’d failed in taking on the Alpha was shut itself down.

But above the blur and the black dots, there was a hazy light… A hazy light, and dancing shadows. The floorboards quaked as the Alpha’s weight was thrust off him; a heavy, rolling thud came with a loud groaning noise that Marko almost believed was a protest from the rickety structure of the house.

He mustered enough strength to pull himself up into a seated position, blinking as his weak eyes searched for the source of the light, finding it to be jarred and artificial; it came from a streetlight outside the window of the room beyond the now open door… _Erzsébet?_ He’d twisted the key in the lock… But she’d been hurt, hadn’t she?

When he managed to focus upon her form, just barely illuminated by the invasive lights, she stilled, though her laboured breathing could be heard above the quietness that fell after the impact noises were over. Tomasz’s head was below her boot. His nose was bloodied, dripping and sullying the floor. Marko realised the Alpha was unconscious then, when asking himself why he wasn’t resisting, and worrying briefly that he would. _What did she do…?_ The ongoing silence gave him time to piece it together; she’d kicked Tomasz off (and then some) whilst he was preoccupied with pinning Marko down. For a moment, Marko cursed to himself - he wished he’d been aware enough to see her stamping the shit out of the Alpha until she’d knocked him out cold... But there wasn’t time for him to sit around mulling that over.

“Erzsi…?” He coughed as he forced himself to stand up. Though he used the wall for support, he thankfully found he didn’t need it as much as he thought he would.

Erzsébet’s shoulders dropped as she released a long, heavy breath. She half-muttered, “Go, Marko… Get out of here while he’s down.” She moved her left arm, touching her hand to her opposite shoulder.

Whilst he found the pain in his chest was still the worst of any, Marko winced as he moved his own arm, the one that had been twisted by the Alpha. He spoke his earlier thoughts aloud, “Not without you.”

He started to approach her. Whatever her injuries were, he could fix them. He’d need to get them back to the clinic first, but it was just a flesh wound... If it was anything worse, she wouldn’t be moving.

There was a weakness in her voice, as if the last ounces of her strength had been used up taking the Alpha down. “I’ll... Be right there.” She stood upright still, as she inhaled and exhaled shaky breaths; once, twice, three times exactly. And then she fell.

“ _Shit_!” Though Marko’s body hurt all over, he forced himself to support her weight and guide her down to the floor with as much care as possible. They needed to leave… He could sit and make sense of everything later. His hands were shaking. Whether or not it was from the pain or the adrenaline, he couldn’t tell; either way, it was making it difficult to hold onto her. In attempting to lift her his arms gave out at once. _Not now…_ His composure was crumbling away just as his determination had. All he had to do was get her to the car outside and drive.... Why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t he move…?

Erzsébet’s head lolled to the side and her short hair and cloche began to slip off, revealing the natural bangs pinned back below. To Marko’s surprise, when he’d discarded the wig and hat and placed a hand beneath her head, he found her eyes weren’t closed… Just half-lidded and glassy as they caught the dim light. She looked upon him, and her lips spread into what seemed to be a thin smile.

The front of her coat was dark with blood. Where the bullet had entered into her shoulder, the fabric was frayed and torn. _But the wound isn’t bleeding too badly… And she’s still conscious._ He still had time…

“Why…?” There was faint amusement in her voice, but exasperation also. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

As he returned his knife to its sheath in the inner pocket of his jacket, Marko sighed. “‘Cause sometimes, ya talk a bunch of crap.” Once the words had left his mouth he bit his pursed lips together and started to unfasten the buttons on the front of Erzsébet’s coat. He removed the scarf from his neck and cautiously pushed it inside the shoulder of her coat. It could stem the bleeding but it was still just a temporary measure.

Where the outside light streamed in, thin, faint lines fell upon the Alpha’s bloodied and beaten face. It would have been so easy, Marko thought, to have slid the knife across his neck or to have sought the pistol out and put a bullet through his skull… And oh, how he wished he could. Motionless, with no defences, Marko could have dealt him the very same fate as the raggedy man from the cabin.

His eyes and throat were burning as he made his choice. Sucking in a deep breath, Marko hooked an arm beneath Erzsébet’s legs. With effort from every part of his body, he rose from the floor, lifting her with him. The breath released itself again when he found he was stable on his feet once more - a sigh of great relief. Erzsébet’s body was a weight on his weary, shaky arms, but he persisted, and inched towards the staircase. He only stopped to take a brief backwards glance at the Alpha’s slumped body, before making his descent.

Somewhere in the mess that was his tired mind - between those defining his actions, clashing with those that were trying to come to terms with what was going on - a single clear thought shone through.

‘ _The resistance lives.’_


	18. Chapter 18

[18i.]

Light wouldn’t brim from across the sea for another hour, perhaps longer. As he made his way to the western wall, the muted yellow streetlamps were all Sergio had to guide him in the darkness before the dawn. It was a typical Thursday morning; he’d left his home at quarter-to-five, with the aim of reaching the stronghold’s front wall at five o’clock on the dot - no later. Any later and he would inconvenience whoever had been tasked with the overnight watch.

Though the air was frigid enough that his breath formed a mist in front of his face, there was a comfort he found in the quiet lull of the stronghold during its earliest hours. Only those on watch were awake… No one else wandered the streets at that time. Sergio preferred it that way. It was the only time he could take a stroll without being approached for a job. Sure, the steady flow of work was great... But during the daylight hours - especially when the meat-headed Alphas were congregating for their building tasks - he was lucky if he could get somewhere without being asked if he wouldn’t mind modding a knife grip or two. Or, giving their blade a quick sharpen.  _ Or _ , if they were  _ really _ testing his patience, asking for a holster adjustment.

(And then there was Vuk Mišić, who’d come straight to his front door and asked for a discount on a custom job. Sergio obliged, but wished he hadn’t.)

The walls, a mesh of stone, concrete and steel, reminded Sergio briefly that he couldn’t be too critical of the idiot Alphas. Using basic tools, and often their bare hands, they’d salvaged what was left of the area’s abandoned structures and built the entirety of the stronghold from them. Even if it was far from finished, no one with half a sense of gratitude complained. More than anything, Sergio admired their mettle - even in the chill of winter, they kept on building. Not that he’d ever mention it to any of them… He knew exactly what they’d tell him; that it was ‘an Alpha’s duty to make sure Omegas are kept safe and well’. To which, Sergio would tell them to stop being patronising bastards. And he meant it. So it was probably better to avoid the conversation altogether.

Standing near to the front gate, he craned his neck upwards to look at the very top. Most days the vague figure of the short straw-drawer could be seen, staring out over the edge, impatiently waiting for him to arrive and take over. But that morning, he couldn’t see anyone. He didn’t take this as being odd, though - he figured they were keeping watch out the front side; therefore unlike several of their predecessors, they were actually doing their damned job... Maybe they didn’t even want him to show up and take over…?  _ Not likely _ , he scoffed inwardly.

Along the front wall was a thin nook, inside of which was the steep stairwell that lead to the top. Once, this had been Sergio’s least favourite part of his commute, and he still had to stop to inhale a sharp breath before taking the first step. The stairwell was wide enough that only broad-shouldered Alphas could go up or down in single file. Twice as big as Sergio, but too narrow for him all the same. Any dark, enclosed space was too narrow for him. Unfortunately the stairwell was a dark, enclosed space that zig-zagged up the whole fifty feet of the wall. Sergio found that the best way of coping was to keep both his hands, clammy as they were, on either side of the enclosure as a guide whilst he leant forwards against the weight of the rifle strapped to his back. Deep breaths were also necessary… Many, many deep breaths.

Whilst it didn’t offer Sergio much in terms of comfort, the stairwell was not completely enclosed; several small slats had been carved into the front and back of the walls to allow streams of light inside. But during the night, it became darker the higher the stairs scaled, as the glow of the streetlamps was left below. Closest to the very top was the darkest of all, and as Sergio pulled himself up the last dozen or so steps, he found relief in being able to see the open black sky above once more.

Cold air, bitter but refreshing and sweet, filled his lungs in his last deep breath. His legs were sore, but he didn’t think much of it, they usually were following the steep climb. Now that the hard part was over, it was time to get to work.

Sergio’s first thought upon reaching the top was to move to the outer side and get a quick look at the area below. The merlons that ran around the rim of the walls came up to his neck (which was nearly waist-high for some Alphas, much to his chagrin), but there were solid stone platforms he could hoist himself up onto, allowing him a much better view of the district below, the glowing yet shadowed central city towering in the background. And if there ever came a point when he needed to use his rifle, several small embrasures not unlike the ones in the stairwell had been knocked through the merlons’ knobbly, uneven surfaces. But just as he put a foot forward, the person previously on shift came to mind. He glanced about the front, not seeing anyone, and frowning at the odd lack of a presence to take over from as he brought his foot back down.

A clunking noise against his boot whisked his attention downwards. Making a grunt in mild surprise, he winced in the darkness (to keep those on watch shrouded, the lookout lacked proper lighting) at what looked to be an empty glass bottle, wobbling from the slight knock he’d given it... No, it definitely  _ was _ an empty glass bottle… Sergio felt his brow knot.  _ What the hell’s that doing there…? _

“Ah, Christ!” Came a startled voice close by. “Don’t do that outta the blue like that! Whaddya tryin’a do, gimme a heart attack?”

Sergio didn’t have to look far from the bottle - or far from the top of the stairwell at all - to find a bulky man seated with his back against the inner merlon. A portable battery lamp was at his side, and glinting in its light were… Several more glass bottles. All empty, save for the one in the man’s hand.

Disbelief was the first thing that came over him, as he watched the man’s silhouette, half-painted a muted white-gold by the lamp, raise the bottle with a gloved hand and knock back a mouthful. But knowing damned well he wasn’t just making the idea of an irresponsible overnight watch up, that he wasn’t just seeing things because he’d been working too long or his medication was getting to him (definitely, definitely not), disbelief was replaced by rising anger.

“What… What the hell are you doing…!?” He snapped.

“Eh? Whazzit look like I’m doin’? I’m havin’ a drink.” The man’s voice was guttural and heavily accented: he was not a Utopian, nor did he have the lilt of a person from The South. There were a few from far-off places in the stronghold, as far as he knew, but as they didn’t tend to seek his craft out Sergio wasn’t familiar with any of them.

But he also didn’t care  _ who _ they were. “ _ Please _ tell me you weren’t the overnight watch.”

“Yeah? I don’t see anyone else up here but you and me.” The man had the nerve to take another swig of his drink, swallowing it down with a throaty  _ ‘mmm’ _ sound. “Gotta pass the time somehow, huh? I sure do get why no one wants this post now.”

Sergio clenched the fist of one hand and waved the other to the side, brusquely motioning to the front of the curtain wall. He didn’t know what else to do except burst out, “...You idiot! You’re supposed to be looking over there, not sitting on your ass like this!! What if something happens out front!?”

The man simply laughed, which didn’t do Sergio’s mood any favours, “Calm down, mate! I’ve been checkin’ every so often, dontcha worry!” He shook his drink a bit. “This’s to keep me warm, y’know. It’s pretty damn cold up here. Cold and lonely… They should definitely make two people suffer this post instead of one.”

Unconvinced, Sergio narrowed his eyes and asked, “Who are you?” He needed to know the moron’s name to be able to make a direct complaint to Mr. Wang. No one that lackadaisical should ever have been considered for watch… God forbid HQ take advantage of their lack of attention…

Before he gave an answer, the man pushed himself up, still holding onto the half-filled bottle. Sergio tensed, as he almost expected some kind of outlash to occur, following his harsh words. But instead, the man extended his free hand, and when Sergio looked up at him with a lifted brow, he saw a lopsided smile on his face.

“Riley Dawson, mate. And you?”

If his friendly intentions were to lessen Sergio’s annoyance and perhaps make him forget about his irresponsible behaviour, it wasn’t going to work. Indicating he wasn’t going to shake, Sergio folded his own hands behind his back, which he straightened. “The watch for the next shift.” He told him bluntly.

Once again, he was undeterred by the cool response, and snickered, “Nah, nah, I meant your name!”

Riley was quite a bit taller than Sergio, but having others hovering above him was something that Sergio was used to. He counteracted the feeling the same way he always did, by lifting his chin and continuing to curve his spine until he couldn’t seem any more upright - though he very much doubted Riley was aware of this.

“Sergio.” He granted him, after a silence had passed and become uncomfortable - partly because the other man continued to have his hand offered towards him; he slid his gaze downwards to the hand a couple of times, and back up to his face again, to find he wasn’t going to pull it back unless he shook. Sergio crinkled his nose at the notion but brought a hand around anyway. “And when my shift up here is over, I--” He began to say, just before Riley interrupted him, by snatching up his hand and giving it a brisk shake.

“Well, good to meetcha, Sergio! I’ve never seen ya up on the watch before, but I guess I haven’t done it often enough for our paths to cross ‘til now.”

Startled, Sergio attempted to writhe his hand free as soon as the tight ( _ too _ tight) grip was loosened. “Y-Yeah, well, I only have this morning post…” Not happy about being cut off, he tried informing him again, whilst wriggling his fingers in his gloves where Riley had squeezed overzealously, “Anyway, you’ve put us all at risk by ignoring your duties. Go home - just know I’ll be reporting you to the main hall once my shift’s over.”

Riley cackled with laughter. And apparently he also didn’t understand from the reluctant shake and drawback that Sergio didn’t want him touching him, because he then slapped him on the shoulder…  _ Hard _ . Making him wince - for more reasons than one. “Mate, you’re hilarious! I told ya to relax! I checked with the others first, there’s no rules against drinkin’ up here.”

“I know there isn’t.” Sergio hissed, stomach churning at the lingering smell of stale alcohol on Riley’s breath. “But you were sat down there. You weren’t  _ watching _ .”

“I have been watching! Just ‘cause you wandered up here when I wanted a lil’ break, doesn’t mean I haven’t been doin’ my job!” Nothing Sergio had said seemed to have dampened Riley’s spirits, and rather than getting ready to leave, he went to sit back in his spot next to the battery lamp. Wisps of his slicked-back brown hair turned yellow in the warm light, which caught his strong jaw, high cheekbones and thick, dark browline. The bridge of his nose must have been cut somehow, as it was patched with a small bandaid. He looked a bit familiar, and Sergio guessed he’d probably seen him once or twice around the stronghold before, just in passing.

It appeared he was going to be sticking around. Whilst not pleased with this, Sergio decided to ignore him; he knew getting angry at someone so ignorant was fruitless. He dealt with blockheads like that on a regular basis: he wasn’t going to leave if he told him to. Nor did Sergio have the authority to tell him to do anything, so it would have just been a waste of breath. Bristled all the same, his period of solitude cut woefully short, he took the step up to get a look over the wall with tension in his body. Down below was empty, the shells of the former houses surrounding the walls poking out of the ground like hollow tombs. Nothing appeared suspicious. Everything was still in the lull of the early morning; only the distant noises of the city were carried across in the chilled northerly breeze... Lucky for Riley, and in turn, damned lucky for everyone else.

“Are ya one of them, Sergio?” He asked, tone pleasant but loud - it might as well have just been loud though, because Sergio cared little for his niceness, genuine as it must have been.

“One of  _ what _ ?” Whilst he made sure he sounded acrid, it was because of his current impatience with the man and nothing more. He was well aware of what Riley was asking, but though his choice of words was uncanny, Sergio wasn’t offended by them.

But if Riley’s intentions had in fact been to irritate him further, he was going the right way about it as he clarified, “An Omega? ‘Cause, uh… Ya do kinda look like one. All small and lithe.”

Sergio’s hands pressed into the merlon’s top as he fought his urge to whisk around and hurl one of the empty bottles at the other man’s head. He inhaled and exhaled, as deep and as practised as he would when climbing the stairwell, to calm himself. “Yeah, I’m one of ‘them’.” Being a foreigner, Riley’s opinion of Omegas and Alphas alike was up in the air. Then again, if he held any kind of prejudice he likely wouldn’t be living inside the stronghold. He was just an idiot that somehow thought his big foot belonged in his big mouth.

After staying quiet for long enough that Sergio had hoped he might get enough peace to be able to concentrate on the watch, Riley piqued up again, “So er… D’ya know the Kirklands?”

Prior to that, Sergio wasn’t sure the man could have baffled him further. But he managed it.  _ The Kirklands…? What’s he asking me about them for?  _ “I know  _ of _ them.” They all did, Omegas and Alphas; only the youngest children among their kind were so blissfully unaware of the Kirkland Dynasty, their origins, their legacy…

There was a faint sloshing noise from Riley’s drink. “You guys don’t like ‘em, do ya? ‘Cause they were the ones runnin’ the whole program and all. Made ya fight for ‘em.” The eagerness began to drain from his tone. In its place, he sounded pensive, though his volume didn’t change. “...In a war that could’ve been over years ago… Geeze, how awful…”

When Sergio turned around to look at the other, he saw that his head was downcast, his fingers pinching at the bridge of his bandaged nose. He frowned at the sight.  _ Talk about mood whiplash…  _ Wondering if what he’d shown of personality so far had all been down to the contents of his several strewn bottles, Sergio shook his head to himself. So, any likelihood of Riley having paid any attention at all to his duty had been thrown right out of the window (or, off the edge of the wall, as it were). Not that he hadn’t doubted it from the beginning.

Alcohol-fueled or not, though, Sergio had never really heard a foreigner’s opinion on the program before. And for sure, he’d never heard one directly. In that instance, he remained more curious than irritated.

“Maybe.” Sergio said, when he realised Riley wasn’t going to add anything else to his forlorn statement. “It’s not like we knew much else back then.”

Riley looked up. A remarkable plainness came into his voice; it was almost like he was trying to mimic Sergio’s cynicism, “That makes it even worse…” He bowed his head again and sighed. After taking a swig of his drink he murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Bemused, Sergio frowned as he eyed the glowing outline of Riley’s face. “What are you sorry for?” He would’ve much rather liked an apology for the man’s reckless behaviour on watch and the irritation it had caused him.

“Y’know…” Riley shrugged a bit. “...All that happened to ya.”

That wasn’t what Sergio had meant, as he had got the gist of it before, but he clarified, “I meant,  _ you _ \- why are  _ you _ sorry? You don’t have a reason to be.”

The light of the battery lamp caught the weak smile Riley offered him, “Just… Bein’ sympathetic, mate. For what it’s worth, even if it’s not much.” He drank again, and added, “It ain’t much at all, really…”

He was right, to a point. But just  _ why _ he felt the need as an outsider to apologise was still lost on Sergio. When Sergio turned to look over the wall again, he was silent; he wanted at first to just shrug Riley’s words off. Sympathy meant very little to him. He was not ill (well, not by the correct definition of it), or injured or dying; he didn’t need it just for being an Omega, that was for sure. But, all the same, it raised enough questions that he couldn’t ignore him, in hopes he’d go away: who even  _ was _ Riley, and why was he in the stronghold? “You speak good Utopian.” He muttered.

“Ah, ya think so?” Was Riley’s chipper response. “Well, thanks!”

“Who taught you?”

“My parents. They both came from here.”

It seemed Riley had no issue answering the questions but Sergio decided not to press any more, lest he seem too interested in the man’s background. Likely he was there with the rebellion, on behalf of his parents. Nothing all that out of the ordinary at all. He was almost disappointed… Almost.

Sergio heard the sound of a car’s engine in the area. Starting distant and quiet, it soon grew into a series of harsh rumbling and grinding noises close by. Tyres screamed like anguished voices against the tarmac, the echoes piercing the night. Yet he thought little of it - until he caught sight of the approaching vehicle’s headlights. No one drove through the desolate vicinity surrounding the stronghold, unless they were headed to the walls themselves. Squinting at the oncoming pricks of light he mused to himself,  _ who the hell could be out at this hour? _

“So… What about you, mate?” Riley questioned him, unaware that Sergio’s attention was now taken. “Gonna tell me about yourself?”

The car, a dark-coloured, low-seated model, made a hasty swerve into the street below the curtain wall. After clipping the curb, it came to a sudden halt in front of a half-demolished dwelling with another tyre screech. This time the noise was loud and grating enough that it made Sergio wince, even from the height he was at. Black rubber burn tracks were left in the wake of the vehicle... So not only was the driver out at a stupid hour, they were also driving like a complete idiot.

“Someone’s here.” He told Riley, so as to dismiss what he’d asked. Briefly remembering the other man’s empty bottle collection he wondered if it was a drunk driver down there. Some senseless moron who’d been in the centre drinking themselves stupid overnight, maybe. That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but usually they’d stumble through the back doors instead of pulling up at the front gateway, because most in the stronghold didn’t even own cars to begin with… His brow knotted at that thought alone, and the slight suspicion - and fear - that it might not have been someone returning at all took hold.

_ No…  _ He rationalised, watching the car’s lights flicker off.  _ HQ would never approach like that… They’d send a truck full of automata… _

Riley made a delayed and slightly confused “Eh?” sound. Sergio saw the door of the driver’s seat open, but with barely any light left below he couldn’t place the person’s identity. Many of the streetlamps below had been removed with the deconstruction of the deserted buildings, turned to scrap metal and recycled (so, perhaps now that he considered it, the driver’s erratic behaviour could have been down to their difficulty navigating). The side of the nearby gate tower held the solution to this, and Sergio wasted no time in bolting in that direction. Hinged upon the gate tower was a large floodlight. It served the sole purpose of getting a half-decent look at anyone approaching in the dark, or illuminating the front of the gateway for whatever other reason it needed to be.

He hitched up onto the floodlight and swung on the hinge, aiming the surface at the ground. A bold white light shone upon every nook and cranny below the second he flicked the switch, and he looked upon the figure of a man as he covered his eyes with his arm and stumbled backwards into the car’s bonnet.

“ _ Who’s there _ !?” Sergio called down at the top of his lungs, balancing a foot up on the merlon whilst gripping tight on the floodlight’s hinge. The situation wasn’t ideal but rising to challenge a possible invader gave him a sense of confidence… If nothing else, he could sure show Riley how the watch was meant to operate.

The man looked upwards into the light, continuing to use his arm as a shield. He didn’t answer, much to Sergio’s chagrin, and instead moved around to the other side of the car; he seemed to take uneven steps, putting his hand down on the bonnet at one point, perhaps to stop himself from falling over.

_ What the hell…?  _ Is _ he drunk?  _ Sergio licked over his bottom lip, dry from the cold air.  _ What an idiot... _ He sucked in a breath, ready to yell out again, but stopped when Riley shifted into his peripheral vision. Glancing in his direction, he saw the other lean a little ways over the merlon, holding a pair of watch-issued binoculars up to his eyes.

“Huh, yeah, you’re right...” Riley muttered. “There’s definitely someone down there!”

Sergio rolled his eyes. After sliding a little further over on the hinge he yanked on the binoculars’ cord, snatching them sharply from Riley’s hold with little difficulty. “Give me those.”

Looking at his empty hands with wide eyes, Riley yelped, before staring up at Sergio like he’d just stolen something as crucial as his wallet. Ignoring him, Sergio placed the lenses to his eyes, scrolling on the focus dial until he got a clear image.

He definitely didn’t recognise the car, but it was the people that mattered. Someone was in the passenger seat. The man was hunched over, pulling them out… Or at least, he was trying to; he was taking his time.  _ Wait… I know him!  _ Sergio thought suddenly, once the man had lifted his head and come back into sight.  _ That’s…! _

Vuk Mišić’s black-haired Omega medic - the one Sergio had consulted about his medication the day before, to little avail. Frowning, half at the memory and half in confusion, Sergio watched him carry a woman in a red coat out of the car. Cradling her close to his chest, the Omega grimaced as he staggered towards the gate.

“ _ Heeeyyyy!! _ ” Riley shouted, waving an arm to try and grab the Omega’s attention. “Ya okay down there!?”

Sergio winced, trying again to block out the other’s presence. But surprisingly, the Omega stalled this time, craning his head in their direction again. For a few moments longer, Sergio looked upon his face through the binoculars, deciding on a course of action as quick as he could. “He’s in pain, he won’t answer.” He told Riley, looping the binoculars’ cord around his neck as he let go of the hinge and jumped back down.  _ What the hell happened to them?  _ He asked himself as he darted inside the gate tower. Shrouded in the darkened interior, the winding pulley of the hefty gates lay before him. Had HQ got them? Or perhaps they’d been involved in some other kind of altercation… Either way, Sergio was prepared to open the way up; he could only hope there wasn’t anyone pursuing them.

“ _ It’s! Okay!! He’s gonna! Open! The gate!! _ ” He could hear Riley yelling down to them as he prepared to push on the handle.

Sighing under his breath, Sergio remarked inwardly,  _ I hope he never has this job again.  _ Then he shoved his weight against the pulley’s handle.

It didn’t budge. A sudden horror washed over him… Was the mechanism jammed?

He strained against it as hard as he could… No, there was a little movement - he could hear the gears groaning. But, somehow, it felt as if they were fighting back against him, refusing to be turned. It took the harsh grit of his teeth and the aching of his arms and shoulders for him to realise that the pulley wasn’t the problem -  _ he _ was.

And in that heart-sinking moment he called out words that he never expected would leave his drying mouth that night, “Riley!!  _ Riley _ !!”

For what was in reality a few brief moments, but felt much longer, there was no response to Sergio’s outcry. Possibly Riley had gone down the wall to help, thinking the gate would be open by the time he was there. Sergio was ready to swallow his pride in favour of desperation again, louder, when a faint shadow crossed the gate tower’s doorway.

“Eh...? What’s the problem, mate?”

Sergio couldn’t make a full turn of the pulley without his arms feeling like they were going to break off. With a heavy exhale he staggered out of the way of the handle. He wasn’t keen on the fact he’d had to turn to Riley for help, for sure, but it was an absolute necessity.

“I can’t turn it.” He admitted. “I... Need you to do it instead.” As he eyed the other’s figure in the doorway, a frown crossed his face. “...You  _ can _ do it, can’t you?”

Riley cracked his knuckles as he stepped towards the pulley. “On it!” He declared, thankfully without asking why Sergio couldn’t do it himself. When he took ahold of the handle and pushed, the gears clinked and croaked but otherwise turned smoothly; the gate tower vibrated under their feet from the splitting of the doorway below.

Returning to the outer merlon, Sergio rubbed at his arms as he watched the injured Omega medic stagger through the open doors and into the refuge of the walls. He thought better of going down the wall to help them, himself; Riley would have to do it once he’d shut the gateway again because if Sergio couldn’t move the pulley, then he probably wasn’t going to be any use in carrying anyone to the clinic.  _ Pathetic… What’s the matter with me?  _ Rubbing his biceps a little harder, he winced. They’d been strained, but the ache would soon disappear. He’d known to give in before he’d done any real damage, like giving himself a hernia, at least.

He switched sides and watched the Omega medic emerge through the doorway. He was slow and his steps were laboured and Sergio didn’t need to watch him through the binoculars to see he was still struggling. Perhaps the medic hadn’t recognised him, but Sergio wondered if he had, and he’d interpreted his unwillingness to go down and help as comeuppance. He sure hoped not. If he had to rely on Riley to do the heavy work for him, then the best Sergio could do was keep to his post. Whatever it may have entailed, his duty came before anything else, especially any kind of pettiness. So, perhaps it didn’t really matter whether the medic understood or not.

“They’re through; close it.” Sergio told the other, poking his head through the gate tower doorway.

The sound Riley made was something between a groan and a sigh. He began twisting the pulley in the opposite direction. When he’d finished shutting the gateway he lifted a gloved hand to his forehead and wiped at his brow. “Guh... Maybe I shouldnt’ve had that fifth beer after all.”

_ No kidding,  _ Sergio said to himself. He waited until Riley had left the gate tower to give him his next instructions, “Go help them. I’ve gotta keep watch.”

Once again, Riley did as he was asked without any qualms, and Sergio was left atop the wall. Alone, save for the battery lamp, Riley’s empty bottles, as well as the other man’s issued rifle, laid out on the floor next to the other items. Sergio shook his head. Those rifles were supposed to be on a person at all times. He wasn’t content with the fact he’d sent an absent-minded drunk, useful as he’d proven to be, to help the injured.

Sergio felt along his upper arms again, returning to the outer merlon.  _ What happened to them? _ He pondered, looking down upon the stationary car and the return of the stillness in the vicinity… Perhaps if Riley came back to clear up his mess, he’d be able to ask him. If they’d even tell him.

The Thursday morning post was supposed to be Sergio’s period of respite, but that day, he didn’t find much contemptment at all. Every quiet moment passed at a snail’s pace and he soon realised he wasn’t guarding the wall so much as waiting for Riley to return.  _ He’d better come clear his shit up… Otherwise I really  _ am  _ gonna put in that complaint… _

Once he’d turned the floodlight off he returned to the stone step. In darkness, the area was just as calm as it had been under the bright light. Within the hour, someone would be sent to open the gateway again, meaning whoever was on watch didn’t have to leave their post. Labourers would then scuttle out into the open for the start of their working day. Until then, anyone else passing through was unlikely.

But Sergio had to consider the possibility it would happen. What if the medic and his companion had come, injuries and all, and he’d been alone then? And he asked himself again,  _ what’s wrong with me?  _ The last time he’d opened the gate, a few months before, he hadn’t struggled a whole lot. The doors were heavy, so most did; even Riley had broken a sweat, but the gears did most of the work.

Riley did come back, and a lot sooner than expected. The eastern sky was still black when he trundled back up the stairwell, slipping and staggering with a yelp on the top step. Eyeing him as he fell almost facedown, Sergio was tempted to chuckle, just as a reaction to how stupidly comical he looked. After catching himself on his hands, Riley pushed himself up and dusted himself off.

“Geeze, that was grisly.” He said, and until he clarified, Sergio thought he was referring to his trip, “The lady’s got a bullet wound. Dunno where from, the bloke wouldn’t say nothin’.” He frowned a bit as he met Sergio’s gaze, and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Just wanted me to get her to the AO clinic. He didn’t seem so hot himself, either, but he told me to take her and go. So I did.”

No reasoning behind their injuries, then. Sergio sighed a little through his nose. “You gonna clear your shit up?”

“Eh…?”

He motioned to the bottles. “Your shit. And the rifle.” Lowering his brow, Sergio added coolly, “You’re supposed to keep that with you all the time.”

Riley feigned a defensive pose, putting his hands up as if Sergio was throwing jabs at him, “‘Ey, ‘ey! Calm down, mate! I’m gettin’ to it, alright?” He picked the rifle up first and clumsily swung the strap over his shoulder. Then he crouched to collect the bottles together. “Well, see ya ‘round, Sergio. Maybe next week, if I draw the short straw again, eh?”

Sergio replied in a monotone, “Yeah… Maybe.” His lips spread into a hard line as he added mentally,  _ I doubt it...  _ But this time, it was no fault of Riley’s.

 

* * *

 

[18ii.]

Ilir was, among many other things, living proof that a dysfunctional family could only raise a dysfunctional kid. He never listened, or acted on good advice. If he needed something, he could never just ask for it. And when he wanted to wake someone up, he could never just give them a gentle shake like a normal person - he just  _ had _ to yell and kick the mattress until he got a reaction.

But… He never woke anyone up, without good reason. Something was wrong…  _ Shit, what time is it, even? The fuck’s happening so early…? _

“Wake up, dammit!!” Ilir sounded panicked as he gave the mattress another solid kick. “Wake up - Marko’s gone!!”

The hazy, darkened room and the shaded figure of his brother came into view as Vuk’s eyes slid open. Before anything else, he let out an exasperated sigh. Why couldn’t he have been roused at God-knows-o’clock for a good reason? Why the hell did it have to be ‘wake up, I can’t find my babysitter’, and not ‘wake up, the Kirkland Omega choked to death in his sleep last night’, or, ‘wake up, Sis made cheese pastries for breakfast’?

Propping himself up on his forearms, he squinted up at Ilir and repeated, sceptically, “... _ Gone _ ?”

Without delay, Ilir blurted out, “Sonja was on wall patrol last night, and she said she saw a guy in a hood leaving the walls through the east door before dawn! Marko isn’t at the docks, or in the house! None of Mr. Adnan’s crew have seen him!” Again he kicked the mattress, and the aged springs croaked uncomfortably under Vuk’s weight. “He’s  _ gone _ !”

Vuk paused. Then, rubbed at his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose. And then, sighed again. Any hour of the day he’d probably have needed a moment to process exactly what kind of bullshit he was being told, but being sluggish from sleep, he had to take a little longer. “Fuck’s sake…” He grunted.  _ The kid’s just overreacting _ , he thought, at first. It would have been easy not to have cared, to have told him, ‘He’s probably with Tolys at the clinic’, laid back down and got another hour or so of shut-eye.

But with that thought, somehow, Vuk doubted himself. Why would Samuil… Marko… Omega - whatever the hell his name was - not let Ilir know he was going elsewhere that day? A guy in a hood leaving the walls didn’t mean it was him for sure… But, if he’d wanted to disappear without anyone knowing…

Frustration stirred within him. It really  _ was _ too early to be dealing with this…

Ilir was expecting an answer, a response, a reaction. Anything. Hanging over the bed with his shoulders hunched, he waited.

“So, what?” Vuk huffed, before he tossed his sheets aside and pulled himself up. “You want me to go look for him? Go do it your damned self.” He moved to open the curtains, but there was no morning light outside, just the glow of the streetlamps. So he crossed the room to switch the pendant light on instead.

“I’d have to leave the walls and go further than the docks to do that.” Ilir said matter-of-factly, squinting in the sudden brightness.

Side-eyeing the younger Alpha with a frown, Vuk replied, “What, you checked everywhere inside first?” He snorted. “Sounds like you’re making this shit up, just to get permission to leave, y’know.”

“I’m not-- He’s gone, for real!” Ilir crinkled his nose. “I didn’t check everywhere, but... Where else would he go?”

Vuk stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders. “Hell if I know.  _ You’re _ the one who should be keeping tabs on him.”

Sure enough, Ilir wasn’t joking around. It would have been a stupid thing to have lied about, anyway. When Vuk left the room and walked straight into his own bedroom - where Marko should have been asleep, or at least waking up - he found it empty. The bed was made, the curtains were drawn… And because of the suppressants, there was no Omega scent (which Vuk still couldn’t quite get his head around). It was like no one had been there overnight at all. He flipped the light switch with a sigh through his nose, and crossed the room to get a clean set of clothes from the drawers.

An empty room meant nothing, if its occupant came back. But in the time it had taken for him to shower and dress, he’d begun to doubt his initial instincts - that it was all a misunderstanding. That Ilir’s panicking would wind up as an overreaction... That Marko would be back on their front doorstep in an hour and telling them he’d just taken a walk and got sidetracked, awkwardly chuckling and rubbing the back of his neck as he did.

The kitchen was cold and the heating had yet to turn itself on, but Vuk went straight there after getting ready anyway. Tatjana always locked the front door at night, but left a key on the counter so anyone could open it if they had to venture out early. Which Marko  _ didn’t _ , but when Vuk tested the front door’s latch he found it unlocked - and the key had disappeared as well.  _ Asshole didn’t even leave that, huh? _ He resigned himself to the table, watching the clock and waiting for the sun to rise whilst he boiled water for coffee. He drummed his fingers against the tabletop, as if to fill the silence… Really, it was a semi-conscious sign of impatience.

Seconds passed like minutes. By half-past-six his half-drunk coffee was cold and what faith he had held in the Omega stumbling back through the front door had disappeared. Just like he had.

Vuk put his head in his hands and exhaled heavily. After being made to dwell on the fact that Marko had just up and walked out on them, irritation had risen within him, and it had grown and grown until he was flat out irate. He had dragged that Omega straight from HQ’s claws, and through hell and back across the North to get him to the safety of the walls. And he’d gone. Just gone. He might as well have thrown Sergio’s knife right back at him and spit on his face the night before. If he’d wanted to go back to his damned village so badly, he might as well have left the first night he’d come.

He tossed the coffee down the sink and dropped the mug with a loud clatter, not caring about how much noise he made, or even if he broke it. With another laboured sigh, he raked a hand backwards through his still-slightly-damp hair.

The sudden click of the front door’s latch grabbed his attention, and his head twisted over his shoulder. For a very brief moment he thought he might have been right all along and that the Omega had made his way back after all. But it was his brother’s scent that was carried in with the chill that swept across the room. Ilir stood in the doorway, hair tied and wrapped up in his coat; he was heaving and panting and almost doubled-over with his grip on the handle.

Frowning, Vuk opened his mouth to reprimand him for letting the cold in - and for sneaking out, though he cared considerably less about that. But Ilir spoke first.

“He’s… He’s at the clinic…”

‘He’? Marko? So Vuk had been right from the beginning? It didn’t do much to help his mood though. He should have felt relief, but instead he was all the more pissed off. With Ilir, for overreacting. Mostly.

“So why the hell didn’t you look there before kicking me outta bed!?” He grunted.

Instead of coming in and shutting the door, Ilir crossed the room. The first thing he did was fling the spare key - the one Vuk thought Marko had taken - onto the counter where it was supposed to be. He then grabbed Vuk by the sleeve of his shirt, which he tugged on with a grimace, beckoning him towards the open doorway. “You gotta go!”

Whatever the kid was playing at, Vuk’s patience with it all had worn thin. He snapped as he snatched his arm back, “Go? Go  _ where _ !? The fuck’re you on!?”

“The clinic, idiot!” Ilir said sharply. Knowing he couldn’t drag him out, he circled around Vuk and shoved his entire weight against his back, making him stagger forwards a bit. “ _ Just go _ !!”

Standing upright, Vuk held his ground against his brother. “Why the hell do I gotta go!?” But all Ilir did was continue pushing on his back, without giving him a solid answer. “Dammit, kid, I’m supposed to be at the site soon--  _ Ow!! _ ” With a surprising amount of vigor, Ilir threw a punch at the centre of Vuk’s spine. He jolted away from the younger Alpha, rubbing at where he’d been hit. Doing his best not to retaliate with a return hit, which was partially because he was still confused about what Ilir was trying to convey to him, Vuk barked, “The fuck was that for!?”

Shoulders tensed, Ilir retorted, “Dumbass! He’s gotten hurt - that’s why you gotta go!”

When Ilir moved forwards to shove him again, barely moments after he’d given his answer, Vuk grabbed him by the shoulders. “ _ What _ ?” Ilir tried to push again. “Kid-- Slow… Slow the hell down, would you…!?” So it wasn’t the case that Marko was at the clinic for work, after all… He was there because whatever the hell he’d been up to all morning, he’d been hurt somehow in the process. Frowning, he released a heavy sigh, which was also partly because Ilir was now wriggling out of his hold. As he let him go he asked, “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Ilir said in a firm tone. Eyes glowering, he looked ready to pounce again. But instead he seemed to make himself calm down, and when he continued, he was more collected, “I went out to look some more, and I ran into Kit. He told me he’d heard from Riley Dawson that your Omega was at the clinic and hurt…” He shook his head. “He wouldn’t tell me anything else. He said to get you.” Just as he’d said that, he leapt forwards, barging into Vuk and making him stumble towards the doorway again. “So you better go!”

Everything had gotten to Ilir through hearsay, even Marko leaving the walls in the first place. But if it was true, and Marko was hurt, then… Well, Vuk didn’t really have much of a choice, did he? He huffed as he regained his balance. “You better’ve told him he’s not my Omega.”

Ilir raised his voice again, “That’s not the point!!”

Annoyed as Vuk was, it was more from the fact that Marko had gotten himself into trouble at all, than anyone’s misunderstandings of who the Omega was. This wasn’t even the first time - the events of the cabin in The North were still pretty fresh in his mind; it was like Vuk couldn’t take his attention off Marko for five minutes without him getting into a bind. So, what had he done this time, exactly? And just how bad were his injuries…? He pinched the bridge of his nose as he told Ilir, “Fine, fine! I’ll go.” But first - he needed his coat; the door had been wide open long enough that he was sure he’d caught the flu already.

The sky outside was a smoky charcoal grey when Vuk wandered through the front doors of the AO clinic. He was wary of the fact he needed to be at the building site soon… And when he arrived he realised, what did Ilir think his presence was going to do? Magically patch up Marko’s bleeding wounds or mend his broken bones? He wasn’t exactly a miracle worker. He wasn’t even the Omega’s next of kin...  _ Does he even have any family left? _

But there he was, regardless.

Half a dozen white-clad Omegas were scurrying about the inner corridors, their voices hushed but tense, which was more activity than Vuk usually saw when he visited the clinic. A few eyed him as they passed but said nothing, too busy to give him any sort of greeting or verbal acknowledgement, which reaffirmed his question of what good him being there was actually supposed to do. He’d avoid the clinic if he could - he didn’t like much about it; everything was too light and too clean, and everywhere he went he could only smell disinfectant and... Omegas. Not unlike a smaller, relaxed program.

Above the other voices, he heard something about ‘human blood stocks’, but before he could listen in, he was stopped in his tracks.

“Mr. Mišić! You’re up bright and early.” In contrast to the rest of the medics, Eduard von Bock was collected and spoke casually as he caught Vuk’s attention. “We’re having a difficult morning, as you can see…” Eduard motioned to his colleagues moving up and down the corridor, to and fro, whilst he stood in Vuk’s path. “You’ve come for Mr. Marko, haven’t you?”

Vuk folded his arms across his chest. “I just got told to come here by my brother. I don’t know what the hell’s happening… That idiot get himself into trouble, huh?”

“It would appear so.” Eduard answered politely, but to the point. “Erzsébet Hédeváry was with him. She’s been shot in the shoulder at a relatively close range and has lost a great deal of blood. I believe they were outside the walls, but I’m afraid I don’t know much more. Ah, but Mr. Marko himself - he’s been bruised quite a bit, but he’s still in one piece.”

“Hédeváry…” Vuk muttered to himself, lowering his head. Had Marko gone out of the walls to see her? If that was so, he could have just said; all he’d have needed was an Alpha to escort him. But what had they been doing together, that had caused Hédeváry - that demon-woman - to get shot? He asked Eduard, “Where is he?”

“Resting. I can take you to him, if you’d like.”

“Is he awake?”

Eduard replied with a nonchalant smile that didn’t do Vuk’s annoyance with the situation much good, “We can go find out.”

As much as Vuk did want to tell him that his answer wasn’t good enough, that if Marko wasn’t conscious there was no point him being there, he simply told him, “Fine. Lead the way.”  _ I need another coffee… And a smoke. _

With a firm nod, Eduard asked him to follow; he lead him further down the corridor, some ways past the other medics jogging to and fro. Vuk figured it was Hédeváry they were fussing over. She must have been there because of the AO clinic’s close proximity to the front gateway; the human rebels had their own medical centre further inside the stronghold, better equipped for their treatment. But Omegas were trained to treat Women’s Corps members and male officials in the program, so operating on her shot wound wouldn’t be a problem by itself - so long as they had human blood on hand that they could give her for a transfusion…

Some ways down from the commotion and through a wide doorway was an empty ward. At least, it seemed empty at first. The lights were dimmed, and five of the six beds were unoccupied. After stepping inside, Eduard motioned across the room to the curtain drawn in front of the furthest bed on the left with his clipboard. He said nothing, but swiftly darted out afterwards. Vuk furrowed his brow as he watched him go; he opened his mouth on instinct to say something along the lines of, ‘why the hell’re you just leaving me here!?’ - but there was an absolute silence in the room he couldn’t break.

He listened to each footstep he took as he crossed the room. What kind of sight was waiting for him, behind that curtain? Bracing himself for the worst, he pulled back the cover a little, just enough for him to slip around it and close it again afterwards.

Marko looked surprisingly peaceful. The strip light above his bed cast a pale glow upon his features. He slept on his back, expressionless, eyes and lips closed. Unthreatening, submissive, gentle… Befitting of an Omega. But not of  _ him _ . Patches of red skin marred his bare arms, settled atop the bedclothes. Bruised - but not broken. He’d be back on his feet in a couple of days.

Between the bed and the frosted-glass window was a lone plastic chair. Vuk stepped around the bed and took the seat. He recalled the night he’d run the HQ vehicle down, trashed it and pulled the self-sacrificial idiot from the wreckage - it had barely been a week since and yet there he was again, watching over his unconscious form. Sighing through his nose, Vuk asked in a low whisper, “The hell am I gonna do with you…?”

He really didn’t know the answer to that. The Omega was just a guest of his, someone he was putting a roof over whilst he made himself familiar with the stronghold. Or until he moved elsewhere, or whatever he was planning to do. Marko might’ve been resilient, but he’d still landed himself in a bad state, even whilst passing as a human. Others - like Vuk, and Hédeváry - made an effort to protect him and, even so, he only did what he wanted, not what was best for himself, or for anyone else. And he might well have acted like his actions were for the greater good, but in reality they were a mix of chaos and sheer dumb luck. He was flighty, not to mention damned stubborn… What he needed to ground him was a sense of permanency, a reason to live among them, rather than alone in The North. But what he wanted was freedom, and the stronghold couldn’t offer him that… It couldn’t offer any of them that, and Vuk  _ knew _ that - he knew it damned well and he hated that it had to be that way. Someday, things would be different. Someday. Vuk had sworn his life on that.

His gaze trailed from the Omega’s reddened arms, to the swell of his collarbone and the protrusion of his throat, and back to his slumbering countenance. Frustrating though he was, Marko was also... Fascinating, in a way. Alluring - beautiful, even - with his dark hair and smooth skin and thick eyelashes. Vuk could admit to that, if only inwardly. And inwardly was where those kinds of thoughts would stay. Having the Omega as his own… That was a thought he’d entertained too many times in the short time he’d known him. Hell,  _ once _ was too many times. And as the thought returned again, he shook his head to rid himself of it. He’d already made his choice years ago. His life belonged to the resistance. The day might come, where he’d be captured by HQ, locked away in their detainment centre, executed - or he might even die fighting… Everyone thought him disinterested, but in reality, he just didn’t want to leave a family behind. The pain he’d felt when Mihai had been taken from him… He couldn’t even wish that on his worst enemy. And Marko had been through the same ordeal, hadn’t he? Not just with his Alpha… He’d lost Mihai, too - they’d been best friends and pack brothers. He’d understand him. They might even end up being good friends… But nothing more.

Vuk was removed from his thoughts by the sound of the curtains being pulled back. Slightly startled, he glanced at the white-clad medic with a frown, earning a surprised look in response. It was Tolys. Though he wasn’t sure why, Vuk felt as if the Omega was encroaching on his privacy, somehow, entering the curtained area without asking, or at the very least making his presence known, first. He hadn’t even heard him come through the ward’s doors, let alone catch any of his scent. Then again, Tolys’s scent had never been all that strong.

The lump in Tolys’s thin throat bobbed as he swallowed and mustered a straight face. He drew the curtain behind himself and muttered, “G-Good morning.”

At first, Vuk said nothing, but he kept a keen eye on the medic as he got to work. He’d brought a package with him, containing a small vial and a needle. After removing the vial’s seal, the needle was pressed into the top of the cap, and the inner liquid was drawn out. Either Tolys was making a point to look anywhere that wasn’t directly at Vuk all the while, or he was simply intent on giving Marko whatever medicine that was as quickly and as efficiently as possible... Probably both.

“ _ So _ .” Vuk began clearly, leaning back in his seat as he made a casual hand motion towards the unconscious Omega, “As it happens, your brothers aren’t all dead.”

Through the thin bangs shielding his eyes as he leant a little ways over the bed, Tolys gave him an unimpressed glower. “I didn’t know.”

He wasn’t lying. But he wasn’t telling the whole truth, either. Every time Vuk brought the topic up, Tolys seemed to try his damned hardest to wriggle his way out of it. Sure, there was only so much he could have known, but he always seemed to be bluffing or making excuses. All Vuk wanted to know was what happened to Mihai, and to the others from his pack, even if he had to piece it together from the fragments of what he could squeeze out of Tolys.

Huffing, Vuk watched Tolys press on a vein on the fold of Marko’s exposed arm. “Yeah. Figures.”

“I... I thought he died outside the city.” Tolys sighed. He pressed the needle into the spot he’d been testing, and didn’t speak again until it was removed. “I don’t know why you keep bringing this up.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Vuk replied, “Maybe ‘cause you’re the only one that seems to know a damned thing about it? What’re you even trying to cover up, Tolys? I want to know what happened to my Omega. Is that so much to ask?” The more he spoke, the more he could feel the aggravation in the pit of his stomach rising…  _ Dammit, it’s still too early to be getting into this… _

Tolys straightened his back. “And you’ll ask for it over our brother’s injured body, as he rests.” His answer was cold, direct, and said with a surprising amount of confidence. “Do you have no shame?”

Vuk raised an eyebrow. “Nah. Not really.” The Omega’s excuses were tiring. What did it matter that Marko was there? If he was awake, he’d want the same answers, wouldn’t he? As far as Vuk knew - at least, based on the reaction he’d given to being told of Mihai’s death - Marko was in the dark about it all as well… But - why? Why had he and Tolys lived, where the others had not? It wasn’t their fault… Vuk knew that, he knew damn well who was to blame and it was HQ, the Kirklands, all of the officials that had allowed those ‘tests’ to take place. But he still had to know, no matter who he had to confront.

As he pressed a small bandage to the tiny nick the needle had left in Marko’s skin, Tolys shook his head. “I’ve nothing more to say to you.”

_ Typical.  _ It was damned typical. Vuk felt his jaw and fists clench at the response. But despite his own words - despite the fact he’d said he had no shame arguing in the ward like that - he knew better than to blow the whole thing up in Tolys’s face whilst Marko was lying there in recovery… Lucky that his rut was over, or he might not have thought twice about it.

Briefly, just for a few moments that were gone in the blink of an eye, Vuk looked upon Marko’s sleeping countenance again. And then, he realised… “What about him?”

Tolys, who was gathering his equipment and spent medical items back together, slowly peered in Vuk’s direction again. Scepticism was apparent on his face and in his voice as he repeated, “What about him…?”

Reclining in his seat, Vuk answered, “If you’re not gonna talk to me, tell him instead.”

There was a pause as Tolys sucked in a deep breath. A second later, he had turned away from the bed, and made for the opening in the curtains. Vuk expected to be told something along the lines of, ‘I’ve nothing to say to him, either’ - instead, he got a plainly-worded, “He’ll be out for a while… You should go.” But he didn’t hang around to usher him out, drawing the curtain behind himself after a swift exit.

_ Maybe.  _ He did need to get to work, and after all, there wasn’t anything he could really do for Marko… But he’d be back. Now that there was a slight hope he could get what he wanted, he had to take it.


End file.
